Chapter 1: Wrists
It’s when he has Tom pinned that he always notices. How delicate his wrists are, how very thin they seem. Chris can wrap one hand around them, connecting his thumb and pointer finger like it was nothing. He can feel the bones under the skin, the sharp angles that extend out towards long fingers.
He always seems to squeeze harder when he pressed Tom’s arms up, above his head so he can feel Tom’s wrists and see his face, blushed and mouth opened in an attempt to keep his breathing even. It’s only a show, Chris knows, because he can press a finger to his pulse point and feel his heart fluttering too fast.
He keeps the pressure on when he enters Tom, just to feel his heart beat all the faster, feel him try to break free. He tugs at his wrists and Chris can hear the silent plea on Tom’s lips, the begging in his eyes as he attempts to pull free. It only ever makes Chris hold onto him harder, feel the bones grind into one another until Tom is digging nails into whatever skin he can find, whether it be his own or Chris’s it doesn’t matter— it’s then that Chris knows he’s close. Can feel it in his pulse, how his eyes fall closed and his mouth opens wider and his body squeezes all around him.
At this point, he can tell the grip he keeps on Tom’s wrists hurts— he knows there will probably be some bruising, knows Tom won’t be able to hold his tea cup with one hand without the weight of it making his wrists shake— and that’s fine. It’s perfect. Because he loves how the dark rings show up on pale skin, how Tom rubs at his wrists until they fade away and Chris can put them back on all over again, like semi-permanent bracelets made for Tom.
There’s a cry of something that sounds so much like pain when Tom comes, painfully hard and leaking with no other stimulation then a cock in his ass and fingers keeping him down on the bed. He arches when he comes, back straining against the hold Chris has on him, the angle making his semen splatter against his stomach and chest, dribbling down until his body collapsed once more, leaving him panting still pinned down.
When Chris finally let’s go, he kisses each wrist like an apology, feeling the beat of his heart slowing before kissing Tom, who accepts and kisses back. Tom’s wrists are just so pretty, especially with his own hands holding them down. Chris just can’t help himself.
Chapter 2: In Which the Cast Gossips
It was about one in the afternoon by the time their third break came around, which might have been a little soon, but Joss noticed how Tom and Chris were starting to get a little woozy. He decided it was a good idea to take another water break before either of them did a face plant in the middle of central park. No one was complaining as a water break for the gods meant gossip break for everyone else. Everyone said Scarlett started it, but that was a lie. Robert was the one at fault.
“Okay, okay, okay!” Robert waved a hand, settling everyone down. “Now, seeing as the Norse gods both seem…preoccupied,” All of them glanced over to see Chris and Tom conversing while random people messed with their outfits or fixed their hair. “I declare today’s topic of discussion as followed: true color of Tom’s pubes, go!”
Chris Evans, who stood right next to Robert, choked on his water. Jeremy and Mark were both trying to not topple over in laughter, and Scarlett simply smacked herself in the face.
“Are you serious?” She asked, giving Robert a dirty look. The older man just smiled, cocking a brow her way.
“Oh, come on! Don’t act like you’ve never thought about it!”
“The man DOES dye his hair a lot.” Jeremy put in, finally getting his laughter under control. Mark wasn’t as lucky as he still needed to lean on Jeremy for support. “What’s his natural hair color anyway?”
“He’s a brunette, right? I’m pretty sure he had to dye his hair back to black for Loki after he was done filming for—“
“No, no.” Robert did another wave of his hand, shutting everyone up once more.
“I’m pretty sure he’s a blond. You know, with that big bushel of curls and all that.”
“What?” Mark cut in, finally able to breathe once more. “Tom’s a natural blond?”
“Yep. Goldie locks and all.”
“Oh my god, we are NOT discussing what color one of our co-stars pubic hair is!” This came from Chris, who was currently bright red and trying to hide his face in his Captain America cowl.
“Oh, shut up, you prude!” Robert gave him a shove. “Okay, he’s a blond, so what. I think they say you can tell what color pubic hair is by what color their eyebrows are.”
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “That’s bullshit.”
“Oh really? Ms. Light-brown eyebrows!”
“I don’t—“ She paused, quickly touching her eyebrows, than scowled. “That doesn’t prove anything.”
“Sure, whatever you say.”
“ANYWAY! Eyebrows. What color are they?”
“We are not talking about this. We are not talking about this…”
“Chris, shut up! Jeremy, thoughts.”
“Hmmm…well, what’s his natural eye brow color?”
Mark shrugged, “I have no idea. They dyed them black to match his hair for the movie.”
“Damnit! Does anyone know his natural eyebrow color?!” Robert hissed out, frustrated that his gossip was dying so quickly.
Everyone in their circle shrugged, muttering and rubbing the back of their heads in a collective ‘no’.
“Damnit!” Robert repeated, punching Chris’s shoulder, as it was solid and close and he knew Chris wouldn’t mind all that much. “SOMEONE has to know—“
“Guys! Come on! Back in your places, we have a movie to shoot!” Joss called back, interrupting their discussion as he waved everyone back over. The entire time, Robert was mumbling to himself about how everyone sucked and how no one knew how to do gossip like he did.
He didn’t notice Hemsworth until he bumped into him.
“Ah, sorry dude, I—“ His eyes went wide as Chris grabbed his forearm and leaned down, smiling a little too eerily for his taste.
Robert paused, fairly confused. “Excuse me?”
“I said,” And Chris leaned down further, right next to Robert’s ear. “He’s a dirty blond. Just a little darker than what’s on top.” He pulled back and winked.
It clicked in Robert’s mind.
“Oh my god.”
Chris only smiled, letting Robert go.
“Oh my god! How do you know…”
Chris turned around and winked once more. Robert’s face lit up.
The next gossip break was going to be so juicy.
Chapter 3: How Quickly Gossip Spreads
Part two of first chapter.
Tom was glaring. Tom never glared. At least, not when they were still referring to him as Tom.
Chris was becoming concerned.
Tom’s glare did not break in the least. And Chris was seriously starting to doubt it was because the sun was too bright in his eyes.
“He’s staring at us.” He finally said, though his gaze did not shift from the person he glared at. “He’s been staring at us. At—at me! For the past thirty minutes now. And he keeps smiling! And it’s…a creepy smile. Too happy.”
Chris turned to look at Robert from across the set. Indeed, he was smiling fairly wide and it did come off as slightly creepy. It wasn’t until their eyes met and Robert’s grin widened further and he waved at Chris that the actor finally turned away, wide eyed.
“I think…I think you should just ignore him. You know how he is, weird and all.” Chris turned around, trying to get Tom to do the same and just forget about it. That, however, was easier said than done as Tom was far too suspicious to let the topic fall. He did, however, turn to follow Chris.
“Hey Chris, what did you say to Robert earlier? You know, after Joss called the break?”
Chris only smiled innocently, giving Tom a curious look. “Nothing important really. He just asked me something. Nothing to worry your curly little head about.” For a slip second, he forgot where he was and who exactly was staring, but that’s normally all it takes. Tom’s entire body stiffened and he bit back a surprised yelp when Chris’s hand came down hard against his ass.
Behind them came a very loud, “HA!” along with the sound of running feet.
Both Tom and Chris paused.
“Oh. Oh my god.”
“Tom, I can explain, really, he—“
“No you did not.”
“JEREMY! JEREMY! I HAVE TO TELL YOU SOMETHING!”
“Robert was just curious and—“
“Oh my god, YOU DID NOT.”
“Tom, please, I—“
“SCARLETT, YOU OWE BE TWENTY BUCKS! I WAS SO RIGHT, SO RIGHT! JEREMY GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!”
Tom was glaring still, even harder than before. Right at Chris.
“Chris, I think it would be best if you slept in your own bed tonight.”
With that, Tom walked away with a posture that was defiantly not his. Chris outwardly winced, knowing he’s be dealing with a fairly angry Loki for the next couple of days.
Chapter 4: How to Ruin the Moment, By Chris Hemsworth
Both of them were fairly drunk and fairly shirtless. Chris more so on both counts as he had a few more beers than Tom and the other was still trying to figure out how to get his arms untangled from his shirt. Luckily, Chris was there to help out. Or rather, he pulled it up past Tom’s head, but kept his arms tangled against his back so he could touch and kiss without much of a struggle. Even if Tom had no planned at all to struggle against the hot kisses Chris was currently scattering across his collar bone, Chris still enjoyed the thought of Tom being as his mercy.
“Mmm…not fair.” Tom muttered, wriggling around on the bed as Chris moved further down. “I wanna touch too.”
Chris only laughed, a soft chuckle against Tom’s stomach. His stubble ticking pale skin and, in return, making Tom wiggle around even more.
“Chhrrrriissssss.” Tom whined, trying to magically will his shirt to untwist itself. That, or rip it. Whichever came first, really.
“Patience, darling, patience. You’ll get Thor’s hammer all in good time…”
As soon as those words left Chris’s mouth, Tom immediately stilled below him. Because, really, he wasn’t that drunk.
He craned his neck to look down at Chris who was now working on unbuttoning Tom’s pants, totally ignorant to the ridiculousness of his own statement.
Finally, Chris looked up (partly because the button was slowly defeating him) and gave Tom a crooked smile. “What?”
“No, seriously, what did you just say?”
“About what? Oh—Thor’s hammer? Come on, Tom, I thought you were smarter than that. The hammer…the hammer is my penis.”
If his arms were not currently tied behind his back, Tom would have slapped himself in the face.
“Well of course it’s your penis! I didn’t mean—“ He sighed, giving up to slump back down against the pillows of the bed. “Never mind. That was probably the most mood killing sentence I have ever heard come out of your mouth.”
“But…” Chris was pouting now, obviously hurt by Tom’s words. He shifted up to straddle Tom’s waist, grinding his erection down against Tom’s own. The man below him arched and groaned. Chris very much enjoyed watching his eyes roll into the back of his head. “…it is like a hammer.”
They were both drunk and both horny. Tom could not argue with that. So, right now while they were both shirtless and wanting it, he could not blame himself for the words that he said. Because that cock already felt so good and heavy and thick—
Tom didn’t notice when he licked is lips, but Chris did.
“Please just tell me you know how to use that hammer.”
He finally got the button undone, pulling Tom’s pants open.
“I certainly do…”
Chapter 5: He’s everything you’ve ever wanted (and nothing you can ever have)
They sit across from each other at a little iron table in front of a small café. They’ve been here for a little over an hour, but they can’t bring themselves to check the time. If anyone needed them back on set, they would call.
Moments like these are what Chris cherished. Just him and Tom. Alone. There are no other cast members around, no directors or hair stylists. Even now, sitting on the street of New York, they were unbothered by fans or press trying to get pictures and autographs. Which, truthfully, was sort of surprising as Tom still had his ‘Loki hair’.
They talked to each other about everything. About acting, about home, about how crazy all of… of this was. And then, there were moments when silences fell and they spoke of nothing. Those moments made Chris’s heart beat just a little faster. It was in the comfort and ease of friendship that these silences fell, casting them both in soft smiles and quick glances as they ate and drank.
In these moments, Chris found, he liked to take advantage of Tom. That is, in his own mind it felt like taking advantage of him. He could watch closely as the other drank down his glass of water. How he licked his lips and watched his slender throat as he swallowed. His eyes grew bolder as each moment past, staring longer at downcast eyes, half hidden in soft eyelashes. He has already memorized the angles of his face, the sharpness of cheekbones and the number of teeth in every smile.
The moment is lost as Tom looks up, catching Chris in the act and smiling shyly at him.
“You’re staring.” Tom says, sounding almost too naïve about it all.
Chris gives him a short smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sorry, I—“
It is when those words catch on his tongue that Chris finally thinks. He’s staring into Tom’s eyes now, a strange mix of blue and gray and he knows they can be green, when they hit the right light, because he’s been staring for so long and memorized so much that it hurts. It hurts and he wants to say it, say how he’s been staring and how he has watched and how much he really—
Tom’s phone rings. It breaks each of their gazes, with Tom turning down to his pocket and Chris quickly looking to the ground.
He thinks it’s someone from set calling them back.
Afterwards, he wished it was.
“Susan!” Tom exclaims when he answers the phone. His eyes light up then, in a way Chris has only ever seen when he is talking with her. He never wants to know what they look like when they are together, when they kiss, because he knows it will break his heart even more.
He doesn’t listen to the conversation, trying to tune out the sound of chatter and laughter for as long as he can, playing with what is left of his food. Visibly, he winces when he hears Tom say ‘I love you too’ before closing his phone. Tom, thankfully, doesn’t notice.
“Sorry, Chris, what were you saying?” Tom looks back up at Chris, a large smile now on his face. It’s perfect and flawless just like Tom himself, just like it always is, but Chris has to turn away from it, hiding from the shame and regret.
“I was going too—“ He stops, pauses, and really, what was he going to say? “I just thought…thought we should get going back to the set. Yeah?”
He can’t watch as that smile falters. Can’t bare it.
“Yeah. You’re right, of course.”
He loves Elsa. He does. More than anything else in the world, and he knows Tom loves Susan. They’re right for each other. Things are good. But sometimes…
They pick up their things to leave. Chris doesn’t look back as he takes a faster step in front of Tom. Even so, he can still feel that gaze burning into the back of his skull. Those perfect eyes on that perfect face. And how he wants to turn around and draw him in and kiss—
…sometimes he wishes Tom had gotten there first.
Chapter 6: The Morning After
The nights before are wonderful, but it’s the mornings after that he loves the most. Chris makes an effort to always wake up first, which is a struggle all in itself. Tom is not one to sleep in, even after staying up late. He’s awake by eight o’clock almost every morning, already showered and eating breakfast by the time Chris managed to roll out of bed. So, if Chris ever wants to wake up first, he has to plan it out. Sometimes, he just gets lucky. Most of the time, he gets Tom drunk. Red wine always seems to do the trick, knocking Tom out until almost noon.
This morning was one of those times. He woke up a little past ten, finding the bed still full and still warm. The body next to him is still there, laying still and silent as the sun cast lines of white light through the curtains. Chris smiles and shifts into a better position to watch. He’s on his side and Tom is on his back, giving him the perfect view of Tom’s profile.
The man was beautiful in the mornings. The new born sun cast pale skin into a soft glow, pushing the shadows of cheekbones and jaw line into further contrast with the rest of his soft features. The blanket and sheet were skewed around long legs, covering only the bare essentials so Chris could still see soft hips; creamy skin already showing off the evidence of the night before, spreading color around and marking Chris’s claim.
Chris still smiles, running fingers up Tom’s side until the man shutters in his sleep and shifts, turning to lie facing him. From this position, Chris can’t help but run fingers through curled strands of hair, noting how blonds roots are starting to come out from the dark dye. Eyes move down from hair to closed eyes and long eyelashes, down the slender form of a nose to rest on parted pink lips, breathing steadily in and out. It is now that he can’t help himself, as this is his favorite part.
He leans down and plants a kiss, ever so lightly, at the corner of Tom’s mouth. It is perfect, every single time, and he doesn’t pull away until he can feel Tom stirring awake, slowly, and kisses back.
“Hmmm…what was that for?” He says in a half asleep voice.
Blue eyes flutter open, catching the light, and for a second Chris can’t answer as his breathe is stolen away.
“Nothing. You’re just…beautiful in the mornings.”
Chapter 7: If They Were Ever to Fall
He remembers there is warmth. Not just from the sun, but from a body. Strong and solid and firm, if only in his mind. There are fingers brushing across his skin, calloused and hard, but there just the same. It sends shivers running up his spine until they break out over his shoulders, showing how fragile his frame is right now. How easily he could break under those fingers, if he wanted. And the scary part, Tom knows, is that he would let them. If he wanted to. He has felt them dig in before, seen the dark bruises they make, and always it managed to send chills down his spine.
He doesn’t open his eyes just yet. He doesn’t want to. If only to keep the illusion strong. If he concentrates hard enough, those fingers are real, just as the man they belong to are as well. He is lying next to him, hair falling in his eyes at the tilt of his head. His eyes are still tired, heavy with lack of sleep but wanting nothing more than to stare. To run his fingers across soft skin, naked and warming under his touch. He is smiling that crooked smile that reaches his eyes just enough to make them crinkle in the corners.
And there is light. Bright yellow light running across the floor to cast itself across their bodies, rising and glowing brighter as the minutes pass by, making the shadows of furniture and bodies grow and shrink. Tom is smiling, eyes still closed, but he is awake and Chris knows this. Chris always knows this and so does Tom. He stretches across the bed, flexing the aching muscles of his arms and legs until his shoulders pop and a pleasant relief chases away morning stiffness and the last remaining edge of the night before.
If he concentrates hard enough, he can make Chris’s laugh almost sound real. Almost. But it’s always missing that perfect tone, a mix of honey and heritage, that Tom’s own mind can never duplicate.
It is here that the image starts to crumble. How the touch of fingers becomes too feather-light until, finally, they are not there at all. How Tom can’t see all the wrinkles at the corners of Chris’s eyes or the right angle of his smile. The feeling of a solid form next to him also begins to fade, just as the sun starts to retreat back through the window it was so welcomed through before. These are the moments in which Tom panics. When he slowly forgets. Until, finally, the illusion cracks.
He opens his eyes.
He sits up in a dim London hotel. Outside, the sky is cloudy and gray. The sun can’t manage the struggle to break through. He runs cold fingers through his hair, dreading when he finally glances down beside him to find the other half of the bed empty and cold. He sighs and casts his eyes down, not wanting to see.
He still doesn’t pick up the phone.
Chapter 8: Tom has issues.
“Where are you?”
The voice on the other line sounded almost too frantic. It made him nervous almost instantly, because Chris Hemsworth very rarely got frantic. Normally you could hear the smile in his voice, see the twinkle in his eye—Hemsworth simply didn’t do panicked. Especially on a Wednesday night. And why in God’s name was he calling him? Normally when the other got frazzled, Hemsworth called on Tom. Unless—
“Oh god.” It finally clicked in Chris Evan’s head, eyes going wide as he bolted up from his position on the hotel couch. “What happened?”
Because Hemsworth always called Tom. Always. And if he wasn’t calling Tom, obviously something had to be terribly, terribly wrong. And it always involved Tom.
“Evans—Evans it’s bad. Really. Bad. Just—I think he might be drunk too and—and, god, Chris!”
Evans was already up, grabbing his coat and trying to shove his feet into shoes while still balancing the phone to his ear.
“Hemsworth, Chris, I mean— shit. Just, calm down. What’s wrong?”
“He’s—you need to stop him, Evans. Because—because it’s happening again!”
“Seriously, Chris, calm down. What are you talking about?”
There came some curses from the other end of the phone, nonsensical grumbling, and finally a very long, very heavy sigh.
Chris Evans’s eyes went wide, fingers clutching the phone even tighter than before.
“Where is he?”
Chris found Tom easily enough, walking through the dining room silently as he came up behind Tom. It wasn’t until he had placed a hand on the other’s shoulder that his presence was noticed. The newly-turned brunette shifted in his seat, turning to face Chris with a smile stretched across his lips and a delicate looking spoon tapping at the corner of his mouth. His gaze was warm and glazed over.
Yeah, he might have been drinking a little too much.
“Chris, darling! What a surprise to see you!” Tom exclaimed, wrapping his arms around as much of Chris as he could, giving him some sort of hug.
Chris looked down at him, expression serious and unmoving, though this didn’t seem to faze Tom in the least. “Tom, we’re staying in the same hotel.”
“Really?” And suddenly Tom’s expression turned fairly worried. “I had no idea! I would have invited you to dinner tonight otherwise! Terribly sorry, darling!”
Okay, so he might have been more than a little drunk, seeing as they had just had lunch together this past afternoon. But Chris held strong, refusing to give in to the pet names.
“Tom. Tom, you need to stop.” The hand on his shoulder tightened, squeezing gently. “How many have you had tonight?”
This question almost seemed too much for Tom’s brain to handle at the moment. Chris could practically see the quick wit and Shakespeare comparisons drain from Tom’s mind as the spoon stopped tapping against his cheek and his face fell. For a moment, Chris almost thought he broke him.
Then, Tom looked up at him, all focus returning, though the drunken gaze still shone through, as he said, quite seriously, “I’ve only had four.”
Chris’s expression hardened; his hands placed firmly on hips. “And is this your fifth?”
Tom looked from Chris to the table in front of him with his half-eaten chocolate pudding staring up at him. Tom turned back to Chris.
“But…it’s still warm.”
That was not the answer Chris was looking for.
Of course, people stared as Chris threw Tom over his shoulder, carrying the whining brunette out of the dining room as he wiggled and reached in an attempted to get back to his desert, which was now growing farther and farther away from him.
“Nooooo!” Tom cried, kicking his feet and beating on Chris’s back. “I’ll stop at six! I swear! I swear! Chrrriiisssss! I bet Hemsworth put you up to this! Didn’t he? DIDN’T HE? It’s not fair! Just six!”
“Tom, you said the same thing about Chili’s.”
“But this is different!”
Tom pouted, giving his best puppy-dog face, but it was all for not as Chris didn’t even notice while he marched them both into the elevator. Tom’s heart sank as he realized his dessert would grow cold without him.
“But…but…this is pudding!”
Chris simply sighed.
It was only went Chris had managed to rip the spoon from Tom’s grasp (finally) and put him to bed that he called Hemsworth back to tell him the crises was averted and he would be watching the other very closely. After being thanked for the millionth time, they finally hung up so Chris could send out his final message before going to bed himself.
Flopping back down onto his once forgotten couch, he ran a hand through his hair as he texted the rest of the cast of the Avengers.
‘No need to worry. I’ve taken care of it. Tom is officially in pudding rehab. You’re welcome.
Chapter 9: Later.
They part ways with a smile and hug, the memories of skin on skin and shallow breaths still fresh in their minds. Neither say goodbye, as it sounded too dramatic and too clique, even for them, because this isn’t going to be forever, but they couldn’t leave it in silence.And so Tom, always being the bolder, grins at Chris and shoulders his bag, telling him they should get together and have a drink later, when they both have time. At this, Chris grins back, all teeth and slanted eyes, before nodding gently and saying, ‘Yeah, that would be good.’ in a way that already sounds like a broken promise, because ‘later’ sounds so far away right now.
There are still some interviews to do, some pictures that still need to be taken, but those won’t involve Tom and Chris can do them in the States. Everyone else has already parted ways, for the most part. Jeremy has to start doing press for the Bourne Legacy. Robert has to go be a father for a little while. Evans and Scarlett have more movies to make. Mark is staying in LA for a little while longer. Hemsworth has to be the Huntsman and Tom has to be a king.
The Avengers can’t stay assembled forever, after all.
One more hug before they leave, something that is too quick as it happens and too slow as they pull away, staring long and hard at each other, wondering if this was all, wondering if either had the guts to say something more.
Chris breaks the stare first, picks up his bag, and turns.
Tom watches him go before turning in his own direction to leave, the bag on his shoulder suddenly heavier than a moment before.
Tom heads back to England on a plane that seems much too quiet and filled with strangers after a month of traveling with friends. Chris heads back to LA to start the promotion of Snow White and the Huntsman with a taste that is bitter sweet in his mouth.
They still don’t know when Thor 2 is scheduled to start filming. They’ll be living on opposite sides of the world for a while with only a phone to keep them linked, but deep down each of them know things will probably get too busy to call; too many schedules to keep and hands to shake, too many pictures and cameras that always seem to be lacking something (or someone).
And sometimes they just might forget. It’s easy to do it with their line of business. One person sounds so little when being surrounded by so many. And the short time to call seems like so long now.
So, they’ll forget, for a little while, while they have distracts put in place. And that will be okay.
Until they’re alone at night in some hotel with the other side of the bed empty. Tom is off in Germany and Chris is in New York. Neither of them calls, because the timing is off and Tom should be just waking up and Chris should be asleep. Both are awake, silent, waiting, but don’t know it.
It’s not supposed to be some permanent thing; not something with so many emotions and relying on one another. Both of them know that and, well…
They can wait until later, because they still need to meet for drinks, after all.
(Waiting isn’t so bad; it’s the being alone part that is difficult.)
Chapter 10: Waiting Too Long
They had been doing this for what felt like hours, with Tom just lying back while Chris touched, lapped, and bit at every inch of his skin. By now Tom was covered in little red welts, small bruises, and teeth marks. His body shook, shivered, as Chris made his way once more back up his body, from foot to chest, totally bypassing his cock which was dripping onto his stomach. He squirmed, whimpered, and thrashed about as Chris gave a hard suck to a patch of flesh that had already been marked.
“Chris,” He panted out, hands curled tight within the sheets for something to grasp on to—to keep him grounded. “Chris, just….fuck. Please. I need…god, just get inside me, damnit!” He wanted to sound demanding, like he wasn’t totally gone, but his voice was too breathy, too much lust and want and waiting. He couldn’t take this much longer.
Luckily enough, Chris wasn’t a cruel man, though he did laugh at Tom’s discomfort, pulling away to lean back on his heels so he could stare down as his handy work. Tom stared right back up at him, glaring as he twisted on the sheets, thrusting his hips up, begging with his body.
“Demanding little thing.” Chris growled, leaning down to bit lightly at Tom’s hip, to which he earned a sharp kick to the ribs. He pulled away laughing, moving to grab a pillow and press it under Tom’s hips. Tom eagerly shifted; lifting up to get settled in place.
“You’re fault.” He whined, licking his lips as he watched Chris pour lube onto his fingers, smearing it across his dick in two long strokes. He swallowed, finding his mouth suddenly dry. “All your fucking fault.”
“Oh, I know.” Chris smiled, lining his cock up with Tom’s hole, which had been prepared already for the better half of an hour. Tom had just been lying there, open and slick and waiting while Chris tortured him with tongue and teeth, making him want so much more. “I just really like watching you fall to pieces under me.” He whispered out before thrusting his hips forward, sheathing himself halfway in Tom’s body with one quick move.
Below him, Tom gasped, moving his legs up to press against Chris’s shoulders, giving Chris a better angle to thrust in on, making him move deeper. He gasped again with the second thrust, moaning loud when he finally—finally!—felt the entire length of Chris inside him, stretching him out.
“Yes! God, Chris, just like that. Please, more!” He threw his head back, canting his hips down to meet Chris’s thrusts, driving him deeper. “Faster, please.”
“A bit—ah—desperate tonight, aren’t we?” Chris said as he picked up the pace, kissing at Tom’s ankle once before pressing forward with his body, practically bending Tom in half as he moved deeper, harder, making Tom arch and cry out with every sharp move forward.
“Your—hn!—fucking—ah!—f-fault!” Tom croaked out, squeezing his eyes shut while his hands moved up, finger nails catching on Chris’s biceps, digging in. “Oh, god, Chris!”
“Open…open your eyes, Tom. I want to see you. Watch you.” Chris cupped Tom’s cheek, touching him softly as he pounded into him. As asked, Tom cracked open his eyes, watching as Chris’s mouth stretched into a smile. “Yeah, just like that. You’re beautiful.” Tom groaned. “I want to watch you. Watch you come.” He gasped, biting his lip. “Come for me, Tom. Please.”
It was too much. His body was already over stimulated, the feeling of teeth still clear in his mind as they bit into his throat. The feeling of Chris inside him, warm and pulsing and pushing just like that—yes-yes-yesss!
Tom tipped, arching up in a way he knew would hurt in the morning, moaning Chris’s name for everything he was worth as he came, hard and hot across his own stomach without even being touched. Chris hissed above him, pressing even further to manage a kiss, swallowing down the last of Tom’s cries as he too came, deep inside Tom, coating his inside.
After what felt like forever, Chris pulled away, letting Tom’s legs fall from his shoulders as he slowly pulled out, watching as his softening dick fell out of Tom’s body. At the feeling, Tom gave a tired groan, head rolling to the side as he closed his eyes, unable to move much else.
“That was…that was just…”
“Amazing?” Chris piped in, moving to pull Tom into his arms as he lay down next to him.
Tom simply laughed, though it came out more like a tired little huff. “Exhausting. Next time, I get to be on top.”
It was almost ten at night when he got a knock on the door— but not the door leading out into the hotel’s hallway, it was the door that led to Tom’s conjoined room. He waited a minute, thinking at first it must have just been his mind messing with him, but another knock came soon after followed closely by a faint voice.
"Chris? Chris are you uh…awake?"
Slightly confused, Chris went over to open the door to Tom’s room, surprised to see the man standing there shivering in nothing but pajama pants and a bathrobe. His hair was wet, dripping down into his face and even through the thick robe Chris could tell Tom was shivering.
"Tom? What are you doing? I thought you’d be asleep…"
"Can’t. Sleep. Too…too c-cold." he managed to get out through chattering teeth. “Thermo…thermostat is…is broken. Shower…s-shower…."
Chris only shook his head, taking Tom by the shoulders to tug him into his room, arms coming to wrap around Tom’s smaller frame. As soon as Tom felt Chris touch him, he shuttered and let out a sigh, falling into his embrace and the warmth he felt there.
"How are you…are you s-so warm?" he muttered, pressing closer into Chris’s chest. He felt the taller man chuckle, the vibrator from it shaking through his whole body.
"It’s an Aussie thing, I think. I’m like a heater." Chris smiled, squeezing Tom all the tighter in an attempt to consume all of Tom in the heat that his body admitted.
"Not. Fair. Totally…not fair." Tom muttered, nuzzling into the crook of Chris’s neck, getting his skin wet as his hair dripped down on him as well.
"Come on, my bed is probably warmer."
Tom nodded is agreement, barely registering the movement as Chris picked him up and carried him over to his bed, never once letting him go and taking the warmth away. Tom moaned softly as he felt the touch of soft sheets and a comfortable bed, sighing a moment later as Chris came in right behind him, arms wrapped around his waist to keep him locked against his front, warming him up.
Chris chuckled softly once more, pulling the blankets up over them before kissing the back of Tom’s neck. “Go to sleep, Tom."
The brunette smiled, cuddling back into Chris and the heat that covered his body and, slowly, he went to sleep in Chris’s arms.
Chapter 12: Spit.
His knees were weak, numb from kneeling so long and shaking from the effort to keep his body held upright. Tom’s eyes were glazed over and a lopsided smile spread across his face, three fingers sticking out of his mouth as he sucked them clean. Chris could feel his dick twitch with the effort to get it up again, but three times in one night was already pushing it—a fourth would probably break something.
Tom sucked until his cheeks hallowed and hummed around the digits in his mouth, closing his eyes to savor the taste and Chris could imagine what his tongue was doing, sliding up and down his fingers, spreading them just enough to get in between and clean them up. He only pulled them out when he knew he got every drop of cum off them. Chris watched for a second, waiting to see Tom’s Adam’s apple bob with the action of swallowing, but it never came. Chris felt his throat close up and swallow around the lump that formed.
His eyes opened slowly, dazed and blown black with the smallest rim of blue around the pupil. His eyelashes clumped together from the cum that splattered there almost an hour ago. His cheeks were streaked with the fluid, parts drying up and flaking, others still fresh and sticking to Tom’s skin. He met Chris’s eyes and the smile on his face grew as he leaned forward on bruised knees and opened his mouth, tongue out, letting the cum that he’s collected on his drip down onto Chris’s softened cock, rolling down the shaft, dripping filthy and wet.
Chris moaned, throwing his head back until it hit the wall with a hard ‘thud’. His hips twitched with the effort to not jerk forward, his body too tired to actually cooperate, but his mind was telling him to keep moving, fill Tom’s mouth up again.
Even if Chris wasn’t participating anymore, Tom wasn’t stopping anytime soon. As soon as the mix of cum and spit rolled down Chris’s cock, dripped onto his balls, Tom’s mouth was on him again, sucking it all back into his mouth. Chris hissed at the throb of pain and pleasure, having to squeeze his eyes closed and ignore the sight of Tom cleaning off his cock for the second time that night.
He takes his time, lapping up every little drop to roll around on his tongue. He sucked the soft head into his mouth so Chris could feel the growing mix of fluids collecting on Tom’s tongue, wetting him and sucking and fuck.
By the time Tom pulled away, Chris was panting, shaking, and Tom just looked at him all innocently covered in cum and smiled, opening his mouth to show the load on his tongue before tipping his head back and swallowing it all. Chris shuttered.
“You taste delicious tonight.”
The wedding was held outside, because that’s what Amelia wanted and the lilacs did look lovely threaded in her hair with the sun at the perfect angle in the sky. The grass was still just a bit squishy and damp, but the trees were all in bloom. It was the first day of Spring, which Chris found just a bit clique, but at the same time he knew that was alright, because this was Tom he was talking about. Charming, sweet-talking, perfect, Tom who was standing just a few feet away in the most dapper looking suit, a soft purple bowtie around his neck and a smile that kept wanted to break out into a full blown grin at any second spread across his face.
Chris wasn’t standing next to him at all. In some far-off fancy he always sort of imagined being Tom’s best man, or at the very least a groom, but it seemed all the positions were stolen up by friends from his childhood, University days, amounts of time that beat out Chris’s own of sporadically seeing the other a few months out of every couple of years, if at all nowadays. They were still friends, of course, and could still laugh and joke together and feel a surge of happiness when an invitation of ‘You have been cordially invited to the wedding of Amelia Harper and Thomas Hiddleston’ arrived in the mail. Tom had even asked for India to be his flower girl, an honor Chris’s five year-old daughter took very, very, seriously and had both Chris and Elsa buying fake flower petals for her to practice all over their house with.
Even with all that serious training, little India still couldn’t help but wave at her mom and dad as she walked down the aisle spreading around white and purple flower petals.
The music swam in Chris’s ears as he turned away from his daughter, not looking back at the bride but forward at the groom, who’s eyes were so fixed on the woman of his life, of his dreams, dressed in the most beautiful gown possible and looking just as lovely as ever. Chris had never seen Tom smile so wide or seen his eyes so blue. They dazzled and sparkled with the beginnings of tears and Chris couldn’t help but feel his heart ache at that expression, knowing that years ago at one point that happiness was turned toward him.
Tom had told him once, just once, ‘I love you’ in a way that made Chris’s entire body feel too heavy. Even if he had said it before, this wasn’t just a brotherly bond, this was Tom squeezing his hand and looking back at him with this sad sort of hope, wanting nothing more than Chris to open his mouth and repeat those same words back.
But he didn’t; couldn’t, because no matter just how much those words might be true, he also had Elsa and India and they were happy. He was happy. So, Chris took his hand back and let his eyes fall away from Tom’s own. He didn’t have the nerve to look at Tom as he quietly whispered out,
There was a second of silence; a second where Chris knew if he looked up he’d know exactly what Tom looked like when his heart broke. He couldn’t and just waited to feel the warmth of Tom’s smile return so he could just look at him again and remember how he looked happy. Chris ignored the way Tom’s grin seemed forced, or how his eyes seemed just a little bit sullen. And moved on.
Tom never brought it up again.
And now Chris sat, watching Tom stare back into the wrong set of eyes and hold the wrong set of hands. He could barely stop the buzzing inside his head enough to hear the vows being exchanged and the rings slide onto each finger with a softly muttered ‘I do’. They kissed and people clapped and the entire time Chris couldn’t stop thinking.
‘That could have been you.’
The newlywed couple pulled away and they are both smiling wide, laughing at a silent joke and holding each other close. Amelia’s crying and Tom is practically glowing. Chris is clapping on auto-pilot as he watches, stares, and suddenly blue eyes meet blue eyes and Chris can feel his heart sink into his stomach, feel it as his own little smile slowly faded as the realization finally hits him.
‘He could have been yours.’
Chapter 14: Sickness
"You’re going to run yourself into the ground at this point." Tom grumbled mostly to himself, grabbing up all the wet clothes into a bundle before throwing them into the hamper with a little huff. He didn’t want to look at Chris, knowing he would simply glare and get even more irritated.
Chris was anything but angry, however, curled up in the bed with a large comforter wrapped around his body as he shivered, attempting to warm himself up even as water still clung to his hair and skin. Even if it was a stupid thing to do, jumping out into the sea on such a shitty day as today with gray skies, cold gusts, and rain that wouldn’t stop. The waves were simply too good to pass up.
He grinned from the bed, head only poking out from the covers, watching Tom as he huffed out and muttered words and swears to himself, picking up towels and dabbing the carpet clean of water.
"You worry too much. I’m fine." Chris said, even though he knew Tom would be able to hear his lie. His body shook and shivered from being too cold and too hot all at the same time.
"You’re sick!" Tom threw down the towels he was collecting, too caught up in being irritated and annoyed with the other’s behavior and the lack of care for his own well being.
"Hey." Chris said, softer now as he leaned up in the bed and took hold of Tom’s wrist, squeezing it gently in his hand. “Tom."
There was a second of hesitation, but soon enough Tom let his shoulders fall and a sigh leave his lips, turning to look down at Chris, trying to not take notice of how warm his hand felt against his skin.
Chris only smiled, pulling Tom’s hand forward to place a chaste kiss against his palm, as a promise and an apology.
"Thanks for caring."
Tom let out a little huff once more and rolled his eyes, not able to keep the same spark of anger inside him as before.
"Just go to sleep." He pulled back his wrist, pushing Chris back down on the bed to tuck him in, softly kissing his forehead as he pulled back. “You’ll feel better soon."
Chapter 15: Thankful (Or Wish-Boned)
“Do you even know how to cook a turkey?”
Chris asked from the couch in the living room, glancing behind him to watch Tom dart in and out of view in the span of his kitchen, always seeming to be carrying a different pot or plate or tray of food. Chris had been kicked out almost thirty minutes ago and he wouldn’t stop complaining now, partly because he was hurt and partly because Tom had stopped him from stealing a ‘taste test’ of the sweet potatoes.
From the kitchen, Chris heard a loud huff and a clatter of pans before Tom’s head popped into view, glaring towards him. “Yes, well, it’s a perfect time to learn, isn’t it?” He pouted before disappearing once more with the sounds of kitchenware.
Chris rolled his eyes. “You know, normally people let the bird cook for hours to get it right.”
There came a long pause before the reply, “So?”
“So? Tom—it’s almost six. We won’t even be eating until nine.”
“It’s small! It’ll cook fast! I’ll turn the temperature up!”
Again, Chris rolled his eyes and found himself thankful that Tom couldn’t see him or the poor man might throw a hissy fit and complain about how Chris ‘didn’t trust his cooking skills’ which—okay, the only real thing Chris trusted him with was breakfast and even then it took him about an hour longer then it should have. With a soft little curse, he pushed himself up from the couch, making his way over to the kitchen entrance to stand in the doorway, watching Tom work. He couldn’t help but smirk softly at the sight of Tom rushing about all over, grabbing random things off the countertops. He wore a little apron over his clothing, which was messy with various sauces that Chris could only hope were supposed to be gravy and cranberries. On his face little dustings of flour peppered his cheek and ran down his neck, making the pink flush on his cheeks appear all the cuter.
“What?” Tom snapped, turning right as he slammed the oven door closed on the turkey. “What is so funny, hm?”
Chris chuckled again, shaking his head as he stepped forward to grab Tom by the hands (first he had to pull on those awful little yellow oven mitts) and dragged him into a hug. “You. You’re adorable when you get all red and worked up.”
“I am not—“
Chris quickly shut him up with a kiss, using a quick nip of his teeth as a distraction as he pulled Tom with him out of the kitchen and onto the couch. He licked inside his mouth, tasting the remnants of brown sugar and butter—apparently Tom could pre-taste the sweet potatoes, but Chris couldn’t. He pulled back only after he knew Tom wouldn’t object and get up to return to his mess of a kitchen.
“Chris—What are you—“
“Shut up.” Chris quickly interrupted, stealing another little kiss as his hands pushed the apron up, fingers pressing into the crotch of Tom’s pants. “You’ve been working too hard in there. It’s not even our holiday. You need to relax!”
“That, and I think you look really good in this apron.”
Tom paused; blinked.
“And I would really like to fuck you in it.”
“Just the apron.”
It didn’t really work out like that, exactly. There were too many frantic hands pulling on clothing all at once. They managed to get Tom’s jeans and underwear off, but his shirt could only be pushed up enough so that Chris could play with Tom’s nipples, as the ties to the apron were preventing it from coming off all the way. Which, okay, Chris didn’t mind so much. Having Tom on his back on a couch, arms held up and falling behind him over the arm with one leg propped on the ground for support and one leg up on the cushions, dangling over the edge as he twisted a nipple through a thin cotton apron and fucked two fingers into him with the other hand wasn’t so bad.
“So, Tom…” Chris said, sounding way too put together and casual as he spread his fingers wide inside Tom to make him thrash about for a moment, moaning loud and broken as one of his nipples was twisted at the same time. “What are you thankful for, hm? I hear that’s one of their traditions in America. Go around the dinner table and say what you’re thankful for.”
Tom could barely speak, let alone think of something to use as an answer, which Chris was well aware of seeing as he was the one who made Tom’s brain turn to mush. Either way, he smiled down at the other, flicking at both of his already swollen, red nipples before grabbing up the lube beside him to spread it on his own cock, slicking himself up.
“Well, I know I’m thankful to have you here with me today.” Chris leaned down to plant a sloppy kiss at the corner of Tom’s mouth, twisting his fingers out and fucking them back in hard as he did so, hearing Tom squeak with the movement and felt him shiver under his touch. “All stretched open and ready for me. Wet and sloppy for my cock, because I take such good care of you. Don’t I?” He asked, pulling his fingers out just enough to run them over Tom’s rim, circling the sensitive skin and watching him squirm. “Come on,” Chris pouted, “You have to be thankful for something. I mean—you’re thankful for my cock, right?” He removed his fingers all together out, shifting so the head of his dick pressed right up against Tom’s hole, angling it so whenever he moved it caught against the rim before sliding along his crack. “Right?”
Desperately, Tom nodded, biting his lip in an attempt to fight back more little moans at the feeling of Chris rubbing against him like that. His own cock was heavy and hard against his stomach, dripping pre-come to leave his skin shiny with it.
“Come on now, you can do better than that.” Chris teased, giving Tom’s thigh a light slap. “Are you thankful for my cock, Tom?”
Tom whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to gain some form of sanity, but all was lost as Chris kept rutting against him, making him feel just how hard and thick he was and how not inside him!
“Y-Yessss!” He finally hissed, throwing his head back. “Yes. Chris. I’m th-thankful for your cock. Please. I’m so thankful. I just need it—you—fuck me. Now. Please.”
And, of course, with a smile the Aussie did just that. He pressed Tom’ legs wider, lifting his hips for a better angle right before slamming into him, making Tom scream out with the force of it. The pace didn’t let up after that, simply thrusting hard to stab into Tom, gripping his thighs and making him feel every single inch of Chris’s cock on the way in and out. Tom didn’t mind, simply panted and tried in vain to keep up the pace, moving his hips to meet Chris’s thrusts, but he was off so it was only on every other that he got the angle just right and the combination of push made him see stars.
It didn’t take long for Tom to start to moan too loudly, mouth hanging open as he took in gasps of breath, his fingers curling into the fabric of the couch near his head. Chris could feel it too, how his body squeezed that much harder around his cock and it became that little bit more difficult to shove back in to the same depth as before. Tom was close, so close, and so was Chris.
Tom came first, hard, shooting his load all across the little white apron, bunched up now with his shirt under his arms and stained with more than just sauces now. His body went too tight after that, just for a little while, which gave Chris the edge he needed to fuck his way into Tom and bury himself there as he came with a silent cry.
They collapsed together on the couch after that, sweaty and spent cuddled together for some time, just dozing and drinking in the smell of each other, sex, and burning tur…
Tom’s eyes snapped open at that, shoving Chris off him with a curse as he scrambled up from the couch and to the kitchen where little clouds of gray smoke where starting to emit from.
“No, no, no! Fuck—shit! Chris! Chris, you ass, the turkey burned!” Tom shouted from the kitchen, coughing softly and muttering multiple profanities under his breath as more clatter of pots and pans rang through the air.
Chris simply sighed, rolling his eyes for the third time that evening as he rolled over onto his back and smiled. “We’ll just order Chinese, Tom. It’s not even our holiday!”
More curses came out from the kitchen, most of them laced with his name, but Chris decided it was worth it. Especially when he got to see Tom jump up in almost nothing but that white apron and Chris’s cum dribbling out of his hole and down his thighs.
And, for that, Chris was thankful.
Chapter 16: Bottom, Up
Chris starts when they’re done, because this way he can focus and Tom doesn’t argue. Not that he ever does argue or protest or make it stop. He likes to smile lazily and let out little giggles or gasps depending on where Chris decided to focus next.
It’s quiet. They’re both fucked out laying on the bed, skin cooling and sweat drying. The trembling need from before is gone, without Tom begging and Chris’s dick throbbing he can properly put his full attention to Tom’s body, love it the way he should without desperate need getting in the way.
Today, Chris starts with his knees, because Tom’s legs are still splayed out and it’s so easy to lift one up to kiss softly at the knee cap before dragging his teeth down over skin, pressing his leg up towards his chest until Tom groans with the stretch, muscles aching from their actions only minutes before. He only presses until Tom’s breath hitches and he wriggles slightly to get comfortable while Chris sucks a light mark into the back of his knee.
The skin there is soft, untouched and sensitive, so the pressure of lips makes Tom giggle, laughing softly as his body threatens to jerk his leg out of Chris’s grip or kick him by accident between the eyes. His toes curl uncurl, tense, finally relaxing as Chris moves on to place kisses all the way up to Tom’s thigh.
Here, he gets more serious. The suction he uses is stronger, wanting to really leave a mark on the milky skin. The little snickers quickly turn into sharp inhales of air and quiet whimpers. Chris grips his knee still, presses his leg open further until his hip as rolled and Tom just lays there wide for Chris to mark him.
Bruises rise and blossom quickly under the pale skin, bright reds that edge up to the surface and leave Tom marred. He loves the look of them all days later, when the bright red turns purple, darkens and leaves Tom’s skin looking as if it has gone through a battle.
Chris leaves a patch of three before moving on to Tom’s other thigh, where he worries the skin to do the same. He avoids Tom’s cock, soft and still too sensitive or anymore attention from Chris’s mouth. Once there’s a matching set on the second thigh, Chris pulls back to admire the view.
Tom’s panting now, too used up to get hard again, but his body’s still trying to react all the same with the bright blush that peppers his chest, rising up to his throat and face and the way he’s trembling trying to hold himself together. The way his legs are apart, open, welcoming to anything Chris would like to do to them, has done, will do. Painted with fresh bruises that Chris can’t help but stroke, touch, press into until Tom jerks with the little jolt of sensitivity and pain.
He moves to his hips now, but is gentler with these. The skin and bone and muscle underneath are all still aching from the grip Chris held on them before. He apologizes to each little sharp bone with soft kisses, left then right, as if to say he’s sorry before moving on.
Chris presses his nose into Tom’s stomach, nuzzles against him for a moment and breathing him in. He smells like sex. Like sweat and semen and the edged away scent of soap. It’s almost comforting, that smell, and Chris always finds himself wanting more. So, he lets his tongue drag out, laps into his navel and once more Tom is laughing. Chris can hear the sound in his ears, feeling the quiver of muscle under his tongue. With a hard bite, Chris turns the laughter into a loud gasp, making Tom’s body jerk upright for a second. He does it again and again until there’s angry teeth marks all along Tom’s stomach. He knows some of them will bruise, stay there for a while, so he moves upward once more.
Tom’s nipples are still puffy and swollen from Chris biting and twisting them before, so much like he did with Tom’s hips, he’s gentle. He licks them both in turn and the feeling of it leaves Tom wiggling on the bed, trying to not move too much with the treatment. His hands are tangled in the sheets, gripping, which Chris thinks is too far away so he scrapes his teeth along one of Tom’s nipples, tugging lightly to make Tom gasp once more as his fingers fly up to tangle in Chris’s hair.
He kisses it better so Tom knows that’s exactly what he wanted and his reply in turn in Tom pulling at his hair to show his irritation. It’s Chris’s turn to laugh, chuckling as he looks up for a moment to see a little pout on the other man’s lips. He makes it up to Tom by sucking a mark into his collar bone. It’s beautiful the way Tom arches up into it, moans, pressing his twitching cock to Chris’s thigh to get just a little bit more stimulation.
Tom’s throat is another story entirely. Chris never saves it for last, because he can’t help himself from marking it up first. Instead, he takes his time to perfect all the marks like they’re artwork. He darkens bruises further, making blood splotch under Tom’s skin to spread out and ache once more. He bites down on older marks, making sure his teeth are indented into skin deep enough to last. In some spots he runs his tongue, soothing skin that broke and bled under the pressure of his canines.
It leaves Tom moaning, gasping, turning into the love and turning away from the aches as his mind and body argue with each other whether they want all the attention or not. Tom’s growing more tired as time passes, his eyes heavy, and he lets out a little groan to show this, even though he doesn’t stop Chris, just lets him continue until he’s satisfied.
Luckily it doesn’t last much longer. The pathway ends on Tom’s lips, to which Chris kisses him long, slow, in a lazy manner that doesn’t require too much effort and Tom happily kisses back.
Afterwards, when they’re both breathless and too tired to much of anything else, Tom gathers Chris up into his arms and combs his fingers through his hair, content when Chris finally falls asleep and Tom can do the same.
Chapter 17: Finding the Fandom
Chris blamed it all on Tom. He was the one who was more into the world of the internet. He was the one with the nicknames and fangirls and ‘hiddlestoners’. This was all his fault. It had to be. Because Chris needed someone to blame for it, and right now Tom was sitting next to him on the couch, holding his sides in laughter. Chris had half a mind to smack him.
“Tom, seriously, stop laughing. Right now. Because—because—oh my god, this is not funny! I’m—just—what IS this!?” Chris blurted out, gesturing towards to computer screen in front of him, trying to figure out exactly what he was looking at—what he was reading.
It took Tom another minute or so to get himself under control before he was able to reply. “It—oh god that was good—it’s apparently called ‘Hiddlesworth’. A clever combination of our names.” Tom was still smiling too widely about it all, biting at his bottom lip to try and hold back the hilarity.
“Jesus, it’s not funny! I mean—these are stories about…about me FUCKING you! A lot of them! And shit man, you told me there was artwork too?”
Tom snickered, though Chris could see the light pink that appeared on Tom’s cheeks at the mention of the artwork. “Yes, though I will say if you can’t handle this, you don’t want to see the art. It is…uh…fairly graphic.”
Chris groaned, covering his face with his hands to hide his own flush and shame. “How are you taking this so well?” He asked between his fingers, only glancing up at Tom. “I mean…you’re reading about me taking total advantage of you!”
At this, Tom punched him lightly in the arm, rolling his eyes. “Oh, lighten up! Sure it’s a bit disturbing, but it’s not like it’ll ever happen! I mean, you don’t really want to…” He looked down at the computer, squinting slightly to read the small text on the screen. “’Pin me to the wall and fuck me so hard I won’t be able to walk in the morning’, right?”
He looked back just in time to see Chris’s face turn bright red, right before he buried it once more in his hands.
“What? Turning into a prude on me, are you?”
“No, shut up. Turn the computer off!” Chris mumbled through his fingers.
“What is it then? You do realize it’s all fiction, right? I mean, it’s not like you really want to—“
Tom watched at Chris’s entire body went ridged and tense. His words died on his tongue just as it hit him, making his eyes go wide. All the humor of the situation left in that moment, right when it dawned on Tom.
“Oh…Oh, Chris—God, I had no idea! I’m sorry! I should have realized and—and—damnit, I must have sounded like such a prick. But— I mean—I swear I had no idea and…uh…” He stopped when he realized nothing he said was making sense and everything was just rambling off his tongue. Slowly, Tom settled down, taking a seat next to Chris and, hesitantly, placed a hand on his knee.
“Chris…I’m just…I didn’t know…”
Thankfully enough, Chris lifted his head from his hands, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He chuckled softly, covering Tom’s hand with his own. “That was kind of the point.”
For a while, silence fell on them, something that was both comforting and awkward. Neither wanted to be the first to move or speak and break it. Chris wasn’t meeting Tom’s eyes as fear clouded his mind, afraid of how exactly Tom was going to react to this, after knowing each other for so long and being so close. It was one of the reasons he never said anything to him, because he didn’t want whatever this was to end.
Tom, however, was a bolder man then he and finally grew tired of Chris avoiding his eyes. Very firmly, he took his free hand and cupped the other’s cheek, forcing him to face him. When their eyes met, silence still remained as they looked straight at each other, searching for some sort of answer or solution or way out.
Tom rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Idiot.” He muttered right before he leaned in quickly, kissing Chris fully on the lips. When he pulled away, Chris was speechless still, but Tom was okay with that now as the hand covering his tightened.
“So…uh…where do we go from here?” He smiled softly as the air about them was still unsure.
It took another minute to get an answer. A full minute of Tom biting his lip and worrying and thinking of how to take rejection. The answer he got defiantly wasn’t what he expected.
“Well, why don’t we read a few more of these ‘hiddlesworth’ stories to find out?”
Chapter 18: Watching (from a distance)
At first, Chris thought it was more of a father-son relationship (or rather, wanted to think that, because it was a nicer thought then the alternative) but now he’s second guessing that. Kenneth is a good director, a nice guy, but Chris always notices when he’s getting a little too close. He touches Tom way too much. Leans in extra close and whispers in his ear, like it’s necessary and normal. Chris realizes they have a history, worked together prior, and Tom has mention more than once how thankful he is for Ken to be giving him this break. But…
They’re friends, clearly. They talk together in private and can joke and have drinks. They joke almost as much as Tom and Chris do, which is in itself upsetting. Whenever they are close and smiling and together, Chris can feel his jaw clench and his muscles tense. He wants to sever their bond and replace the pieces with his own.
He’s man enough to recognize that, yes, he is being a jealous child, but not so much as to stop. Though, he has too much pride to admit it bothers him. Too much guilt to make it stop. So he watches from afar as Kenneth running a hand down Tom’s arm, giving his forearm a squeeze which the dark haired Brit probably can’t even feel through all the leather and padding of the Loki outfit, but Chris can still see it and knows that there is more there then just friendship. More under those smiles and glances and words. It makes it hard for him to breathe properly, hard for him to see straight.
It’s all wrong, he knows; how this addiction to Tom is growing so much as to want to pick a fight with his director. He wants him more than anything, all to himself forever so it is only him who can earn those smiles and gain that praise. It’s unhealthy and wrong and Chris knows this, really, but somehow he simply doesn’t care.
Tom is too obvious of a man to ever see what Kenneth is doing, but he’s too innocent to notice when he is flirting back and too stupid to not stop it. It’s unintentional, Chris can tell, just as he knows it is unintentional when Tom does it with him. It’s not fair how Tom makes him feel. Not fair how he makes him crave it. It grows worse as the movie progresses, until Chris has to punch walls to make it stop so he can resist the urge to simply devour Tom himself.
He finds himself wondering how Kenneth has held back for so long.
And then stops as the thought makes everything worse.
Chris wants to move on. He wants to wave Tom off and forget him, but it is like Tom refuses to let him go.
It’s on the last day of filming that he gives in. After everyone clapped and smiled and celebrated and Kenneth stopped touching Tom, so he could stop touching back and Chris can breathe again. When they’re finally alone, Tom and Chris, changed back into normal clothes without the titles of ‘prince’ and ‘brother’ to cloud their minds.
Tom is still grinning from ear to ear, doing so as he looks to Chris, and licks his lips.
They’re against the nearest wall before Chris’s vision can clear. Tom’s hands curl in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him close as they kiss on an empty set, lights fading in the background as they burst across Chris’s vision. Finally, finally, finally.
“What about Kenneth?”
Tom pulls away to smile and it’s one that Chris has never seen before, never one that he’s given Ken. It lost the charm and friendship, replaced with a mix of something Chris has never seen before, but he can’t stop loving it and wanting more.
“He’s not you.”
"Chris, Chris— stop it!" Tom hissed out, batting Chris’s hand away for the umpteenth time from his lap, trying to squirm away from his touch at the same time even though there was nowhere to run to in the small confines of the plane seats.
"What? Oh, come on, Tom! Nobody we know is here and everyone on the plane is asleep!" Chris muttered in Tom’s ear, taking the opportunity to nip at the soft flesh.
Tom glared, pushing Chris away once more and tried to get as far away as possible even though he was already pressed up against the small window. “That’s the point you idiot!" he growled quietly as, Chris was right, and everyone around them on the plane was sound asleep, just like they should have been, but Chris was being persistent. “Nobody is here because you made us late and missed our flight!"
Chris simply scoffed, rolling his eyes as he shifted, moving closer to the Brit. His hands quickly landed on Tom’s thigh, moving up. “Now, now, don’t be mad. You’re the one who begged me not to stop, if I recall correctly."
At these words, Tom’s face went a nice shade of red, which Chris very much enjoyed even as the other male pressed away from him.
"We are going to be four hours late arriving in New York because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself!" Tom slapped the once more touchy-feely hand trying to get in his pants. “And that does not mean I’m going to let you have a ‘quickie’ with me in the bathroom!"
"Oh, don’t be such a spoil sport!"
Tom turned to face Chris, glaring as he took Chris’s wrists once more in his grip, squeezing tight. “You have a hand, right? Use it."
"But your hands feel so much better…"
"And not to mention your pert little ass squeezing around my—"
"Hemsworth!" Tom hissed, wide-eyed and cheeks hot. “No means no, you prick. And you’ll be lucky to be getting anything at all when we land!"
"Go to sleep before I make you go to sleep."
Chris scoffed, pouting as he moved back into his own seat. “Tease."
"Whatever you say. Just keep your dick to yourself."
A few months was all they were given. To run around in the dirt and swim in the ocean. To have big bond fires with marshmallows on sticks and to sleep out under the stars with Tom naming off the constellations that spread out across the deep blue sky as Chris fell asleep to the soft sound of his voice and the stories that went along with all the different people and creatures up there. They’d exchange stories from different cultures and got into trouble together, tease both brothers and sisters until they had to run off giggling to hide in bushes. Chris taught Tom how to climb trees and Tom helped Chris start reading chapter books.
It was a short summer they had, followed by what felt like an even shorter Autumn before Tom didn’t come around as often as he used to. Whenever they were together, Tom always seemed like he was growing more distant and thinking too much. The two year age difference always felt so much larger to Chris during these moments. Tom always acted so much older and he was much taller, Chris hadn’t hit his first growth spurt yet and worried often that Liam would soon surpass him in height.
A day came when Chris couldn’t find Tom at the park after school where they always met. He searched down by the little creek they played in, underneath the bridge that crossed over head, but none of the pebbles had been touched since the day before and the little wooden fort they had built together (and with the help of their older siblings) was empty. With fear slowly sinking into his stomach, Chris ran all the way back to his house and, right next door, Tom’s, hoping beyond hope he would be there.
Outside, Sarah was putting suitcases into their father’s car, packing everything away that belonged to her, Emma, and Tom. It made Chris feel terrified and sick as she turned towards him and smiled, simply stating that Tom was in his room. There was sadness in her eyes, which Chris had to stop to look at before nodding his thanks to go inside.
Tom’s room was so bare now. Blue walls empty of all the posters and drawings that they had done together— the one were Chris was surfing on a big wave like he always dreamed of doing, of Tom standing atop the Ayers Rock that he never got to see. There were no toys scattered across his floor or anything on his desk, no books upon his shelves and his bed was just a skeleton without all the pillows and blankets they would share on weekends, huddled together underneath them all with flashlights bright in the dark cave, flipping through picture books and planning adventures together.
It was all gone.
"Tom?" Chris said, his voice soft with him standing in the doorway, trying to figure everything out. “What’s— what’s going on?"
His friend didn’t turn around to look at him, hunched over on the floor with an open suitcase before him filled up with clothes as he attempted to squeeze little action figures into the folds of shirts and sweaters. Chris heard a little sniffle admit from the older boy, his arm moving up to wipe at his face.
Again he asked, even quieter then before, trying to not let his voice shake. “Tom?"
"I— I’m going away, Chris." He sniffled again, turning just enough that Chris could see that his eyes and nose were all red and puffy.
Chris’s heart jumped into his throat, beating so hard it hurt and making his tummy tighten up, feeling ill. “But…I mean, I can come with you, right? It won’t be long. I’ll come with you too, my mom will be okay with it, she always is, she—"
Tom shook his head and everything hurt that much more.
"You can’t come. I’m going back to see my mum— in England. I’m going to live with her now."
"But— you’ll be back. Right? You’ll be back." Chris tried, grasping on to any strand of hope he could. Tom was his best friend and they had so much more to do together. They were supposed to go to the zoo next week with Chris’s dad and brothers. And The Little Mermaid was coming out next month— Tom had promised they would go see it together. Tom had even read him the fairy tale for it so Chris would get excited. Chris said that Tom would make the perfect mermaid, even if he couldn’t swim very well, because he always liked seeing the fish swimming around and Chris could be the Prince, because then Tom would be able to save him and live happily ever after, just like in the book.
Tom turned around to finally face Chris, his blue eyes big and wet as he clutched a green jacket in his hands— one of Chris’s favorites, it was big enough to keep them both warm. “I don’t know, Chris. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I don’t know if I’ll be back."
It was crushing. The idea of losing Tom, of him not being there anymore to laugh and run around and get dirty with. Chris couldn’t take it, feeling tears brim at the corners of his eyes with the very thought of his friend leaving him to go so far away. They’d never see each other again.
"But— but—" His shoulders shook. His body shuttered. The sob broke out from his throat and his tears fell, wetting his cheeks and staining his shirt. “You— you can’t! Y-you can’t—can’t l-leave!" He hiccuped through the words, running a hand over his eyes in an attempt to hide the tears, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. “I don’t— don’t—"
Tom was suddenly there, standing in front of him, wrapping his arms around Chris’s neck. Chris clutched at the other boy’s shirt, hiding his face into his shoulder as he cried and sobbed for his friend that would be gone soon.
They stood together like that for sometime, with Chris crying into Tom’s shoulder and Tom holding him close, squeezing back his own tears. It was not long enough, because Chris knew better. This embrace would probably be their last and here he had thought they’d have forever. There was still so much for them to do and a goodbye sounded so permanent.
After the minutes passed like seconds, Tom finally broke the silence, though he kept his hold on Chris just as tight. “I made a present for you. It’s a book of all the stars and constellations. I drew them all and even wrote the stories on the backs for you to read at night."
Chris gasped, hiccuped, and clung to Tom even harder. “I don’t want to read them! I want you to read them to me! It’s not the same!"
"I know," Tom sighed, wishing it better. “But you can pretend."
Tom said nothing in reply. He couldn’t say anything else, because there was nothing to make this any better. He didn’t want to leave Chris, but he had to. There was no choice.
Chris stayed until the car was all packed up and Tom’s dad said they had to leave for the airport now. Chris had managed to stop crying, helping Tom drag his last bag out to the car where he was then given the little book laced together with ribbons of all the creatures Tom had ever told him about in the sky. He clung to it, watching Tom climb up into the car next to his two sisters, not wanting to say goodbye.
They stared at each other for a long time, as the door closed up, silent and just watching the other. Chris moved back a bit as the car pulled out, feeling tears rise up once again in his eyes. Tom rolled down his window, waving but didn’t say a word. Chris brought his hand up to do the same, because somehow that was less final then an actually goodbye, but it still sent aches through his chest.
"Don’t forget me, okay?" Tom said just as gears shifted and his dad started to drive off.
And something clicked.
"I won’t!" Chris called back, loud enough for Tom to hear it as he raced up to run beside the car before it could get away too fast. “I’ll come find you later— when we’re older! I’ll come to England and show you how much I know about stars and surfing and I’ll be taller then you!" He yelled, panting softly as he went.
Tom’s face broke out into a little smile, leaning just far enough out the window so Chris could see it, his curly hair wiping in the wind.
Chris smiled back, right as the car started to pick up too much speed for him to keep up. His legs got wobbly under him, forcing him to come to a tired stop as he watched the car drive down the road. With one final lungful of air, Chris screamed out into their neighborhood, making sure Tom could hear.
And meant it.
The California sky was clear that night after a long day of wearing too much leather and buckles from filming. They sat on lawn chairs, pushed together and huddled under a blanket, looking up at the sky.
"There— right there, it’s the Great Dog. And at his neck— there, Sirius." Chris pointed up, connecting the faint stars with his finger as he smiled up at the night.
Tom was curled up into his side, smiling softly to himself as he followed Chris’s path, loving the sound of his voice as he spoke about the stars and told him the already well-known stories behind them. Happily, he sighed.
"Thanks for finding me, Chris."
Chris chuckled, pulling Tom even closer to brush dark curls from his face.
"I promised, didn’t I?"
Chapter 21: Interview
"Sorry, sorry, I’ve just gotten out of the shower." Tom’s slightly out of breathe from his little sprint from shower to living room in his rush to get to the phone before the ringing stopped— he made it halfway through the opening of ‘Friday, I’m in love’ before he finally managed to snap his phone open. He didn’t noticed that he was currently sitting half on top of Chris, water dripping about everywhere as his towel was now only half-covering all the necessary bits in his little dash from room to room.
Now, Chris didn’t mind Tom sitting on him— he actually enjoyed it most times, in fact and Tom wasn’t exactly on the heavy side. It would have been easy enough to simply lift him up and plop him right back down on the couch without much of an issue, leaving him to talk away to whatever magazine he was being interviewed for this time— but this time around, Tom was getting him decently wet and Chris had just gotten dressed. That combined with how Tom simply ignored him in his rush to the phone set Chris up with the idea to get back at him with something wicked— so he did.
Chris did lift Tom up, letting him drop back down onto the little couch with a soft bounce, the movement barely registered by the actor who was happily chatting away with the interviewer. Being distracted, it was a simple task to tug Tom’s towels the rest of the way off so Tom was totally exposed. Tom only gave a half look and a soft sneer before shifting to turn away from Chris, trying to concentrate.
Well now, that wouldn’t do at all.
With playful smirk, Chris fell to his knees and licked a long strip up Tom cock, earning a sudden high-pitched little yelp from the other. Chris looked up just in time to see Tom staring at him wide-eyed, phone far enough from his ear for Chris to hear the female voice asking out, "Tom? Tom are you okay?".
"Y-yes. Yes, fine. Sorry. I just—ah— stubbed my toe is all." He glared down at Chris, trying to kick him away and turn his body at the same time as an attempt to escape. “Please, go on."
Chris had other plans.
He easily pulled Tom’s hips back towards him, pressing down on his thighs to keep him down on the couch and open as he made another lick up and down Tom’s cock, it twitching to life under his touch.
Tom looked down at him horrified, fidgeting about as he tried to sound as calm as possible over the phone.
"What? Oh— yes, Scarlett I—" His voice broke off again as Chris licked at the head of his cock, swirling around it before flicking across the slit, sucking the tip into his mouth.
By this point, Tom’s breathing was a bit heavy, though his words still came out clear with little more then a stutter in only a way he knew Tom could, having always been so good with his words. Even while Chris sucked inch after inch of cock down his throat.
He let his teeth graze sensitive skin when he wanted to get Tom to jump, let his tongue press a little harder on the underside when he wanted Tom to bit his lip, and he sucked all that harder when he wanted to hear that little hitch in Tom’s breathe. Beautiful.
Tom took it all like a champ. That is, until Chris could feel the tremble in his abdomen, feel the tension rise in Tom’s thighs, and the twitch of his cock in mouth. His orgasm was coming on fast and Tom tried to smack Chris off him with one free hand while still attempting to keep the phone pressed against his ear with the other.
Chris easily pinned Tom’s hand to his side, doubling his effort as he groaned softly around Tom’s shaft, letting the tip of it slip back into his throat as he bobbed up and down, trying desperately to get Tom to choke.
Finally, Tom came with a short gasp of “Yes, th-ANK you! B-BYE!" quickly snapping his phone closed as he thrust up into Chris’s mouth, moaning for all he was worth as Chris simply swallowed him down, the suction not letting up until Tom’s cock went soft.
He fell back against the couch, panting, eyes blown wide and cheeks flushed bright red. “You…you are a…a prick." Tom panted, not even finding the energy to glare right now.
Chris smiled, planting a final kiss to Tom’s flaccid cock before rising to his knees, turning towards the bathroom.
"I know. Next time let’s see if you can keep so calm, cool, and collected when my fingers are shoved up your ass, yah?"
A pillow hit him square in the back of the head.
He’s swallowing some of his drink when his eyes widen and he chokes on the champagne going down his throat. Everyone else at the table looks up, concerned, when Tom coughs, but he quickly corrects himself and clears his throat. His eyes are still wide and there is a twitch to his lips.
"S-sorry. Just, uh, when down the wrong pi—PEE!" The last word is yelped and, again, everyone is staring. He gives them a reassuring smile that satisfied most of them as they turn back to their own drinks and conversations.
When the attention draws away, Tom makes a face and kicks Chris under the table. “What the bloody—f-fuck!—do you think you are doing?" Tom hisses out in as much of a whisper as he can muster with a strong hand currently palming his crotch, quickly making him hard.
"Congratulating you." Chris whispers back, calm and collected with the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looks relaxed and natural as he takes a sip from his own drink while his hand, hidden under the table, finds Tom’s zipper.
Tom bites back a moan and resists the urge to bend over the table and open his legs for Chris to get better leverage. “S-stop iiittt." He tries to say, but it comes out more of a breathy moan then anything. “This isn’t—Chris! Stop! There are people all around us!"
"Well then," Chris leans in close to Tom, whispering in his ear, “Maybe you should keep quiet and come before anyone notices?" His fingers pull down the zipper, grasping Tom through the thin shield of his underwear, and Tom knows arguing is useless at this point. Even if he could talk without moaning, it would be no good. When Chris set his mind to something, he didn’t stop until it was done. Even if it meant Tom was going to make a fool of himself as he squirmed in his seat, biting the inside of his mouth over and over again as Chris worked him.
Tom leaned back ever so slightly, opening his legs wider to give Chris more room to work, just so this whole ordeal would go faster in case anyone decided to take a closer look at why Tom’s cheeks were suddenly growing so red. His own hands fought to find purchase somewhere, grabbing at the table’s edge, his chair, and finally landed on his trophy, gripping tight enough that his knuckles went white when Chris gave his cock an extra hard squeeze. A soft groan left his mouth before he could snap it back in.
"Chris—" He said, trying to make his voice sound as even as possible, but he could still hear the beg within it. And, by Chris’s growing smile, so could he. “Shit just—ah—h-hurry!" He growled, keeping his feet planet to the ground and his hips still. His eyes glanced up to find no one was paying attention to them at the other end of the table. No one had any idea Chris was currently jerking Tom off under the table. Rubbing up and down his shaft, the fabric of his underwear to rough against his sensitive flesh, thumb dragging across the head, smearing precome and—
Tom’s eyes widened and he let out the faintest gasp as his climax hit him, nails trying to dig in to his award as Chris pumped him to completion.
He slumped back in his chair when Chris finally removed his hand, attempting to get his breathing under control. With expert grace, Chris tucked him away, zipped him back up, and gave his leg a squeeze that was suppose to replace the kiss Tom knew the other wanted to give him right then.
"Congratulations, Tom." He said in a whisper, smiling from ear to ear.
Tom glared. “Thanks, asshole."
Chapter 23: Asking for it.
Tom is starting to panic, squirming under the weight pressing down on his hips that force his bones down into the mattress, rubbing hard every time he thrashes. This wasn’t what they planned, talked about, and God help him if he wasn’t terrified right now because of it.
Which, okay, that was sort of the point and Tom knew he could safe word out. He could call it and this would stop. End. Chris would get off him and everything would be fine. Right. Right?
“Fucking slut, undressing so goddamned slow. You were putting on a show, weren’t you? Letting anyone who walked by watch?” Chris hisses close to Tom’s ear before biting down on the soft skin, dragging a sharp cry from Tom’s throat.
One hand presses down against Tom’s neck, the grip tight enough that breathing is becoming difficult and his head is starting to swim. He can feel Chris’s other hand roaming down his back, following the curve of his spine and digging in blunt nails every few inches to pull and scratch, leaving sharp red welts behind.
“Going to make you scream.” The voice growls in his ear followed by another bite and pull, marking the soft shell until it burns red. “Going to make you come like a common fucking whore. You’ll love it.”
Tom claws at the bed sheets, reaching behind him in an attempt to catch any part of Chris’s body and defend himself somehow. His heart is pounding, throbbing too hard into his rib cage and pumping blood so fast Tom is dizzy. It doesn’t help when Chris shifted off his hips to flip him onto his back. The room spins, makes everything blurry and confusing. Tom has barely enough time to register where the ceiling starts above him before Chris’s nails bury into his chest.
Tom chokes, back arching in pain as Chris’s finger nails catch on his nipples and pull until they burn and speckles of blood bubble up from the scratches. He can feel tears welling up in his eyes, panting hard, and he wants it to stop.
He can call safe word. It can stop.
But he asked for this.
He doesn’t know when Chris had pealed his pajama bottoms off his hips, but the sudden burn of fingers being shoved inside his body is unmistakable. All the times they’ve done this, Tom’s never realized how big Chris’s fingers were. Or how long or how they pressed so hard and solid inside him, unforgiving and unyielding as they were thrust in and out. He starts to openly cry when the second one stretches him and began begging with the third. A hard smack across the face quiets him however, deciding it is better to keep words to himself.
“The only thing I want to hear coming out of that pretty little throat of yours is how high you can scream when I shove my cock into your ass.”
Tom whimpers at that, being held down with a tight grip around his throat and fingers jabbing hard at his insides. The weight of Chris’s body lay mostly on Tom’s calves, rendering his legs immobile as he stretches him dry.
When Chris pulls out, he spits into his hand and strokes up his cock, groaning as he fists himself and licks his lips, eyes staring at Tom’s tear streaked face.
“I’m going to tear that tight little hole of yours open and ruin you. Fill you up until you spill over and look so fucking filthy with my cum dripping out of your ass.”
Tom gasps, moans, and withers under Chris, suddenly realizing how hard he is. How this is affecting him and god, he’s asked for it. Asked for Chris to use him and throw him down and make him feel it. He wanted this.
“Please, please, Chris, please.” He’s crying again, sobs wracking through his chest in waves as he wriggles around, making his body tremble. His hands are still trying to claw at Chris, missing most of the time so his nails only find his own flesh, digging crescents and lines into his thighs. He’s not sure what he’s asking for anymore, whether he wants Chris to stop or not, and it doesn’t really matter right now.
He screams when Chris forces his way inside him, practically dry and shit, this must be hurting him in some way too, but Chris is rock hard and stabbing into Tom, starting off at a brutal pace and not letting up until Tom’s screams turn into little choked sobs.
“What? Giving up already?” Chris grins above him, thrusting in hard as he grabs Tom’s thighs and jerks his body upward, impaling him further onto his cock with a high pitched yelp from the man below him. “Or are you just enjoying it like the little fuck-slut you are?”
Tom can’t find his voice to answer, every part of his body screaming for this abuse to stop, but his mind was loving it, cock still hard and yes, he loved this, please, Chris, use me like a whore.
The pace picks up, quickens, and Tom’s insides hurt. Chris has a hold on his hips and his throat, both gripping too hard, digging into the skin, and Tom really hopes they leave bruises that he can trace with his fingers in the morning. It’s a thought that makes him moan, back arching, and the hand on his throat tightens, cutting off his air.
“You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” It’s a sneer this time and the hand around his throat squeezes harder, closes up his windpipe so Tom is choking, loosing air and his body panics, kicks out, and tries to claw at the hand around his neck. Chris only laughs and thrusts harder, squeezes harder. “Come on, baby, struggle a little more. Feels great on my cock. You get so much tighter when you panic.”
It’s enough to send Tom’s body convulsing, muscles tightening as he comes with black spots dancing over his eyes. Cum paints his stomach messy, filthy, and the idea of Chris coming inside him to do the same puts a smile on his lips.
Chris hits him again for that; an open palm slap that stings more than anything, but the smile still stays on Tom’s lips. He’s done struggling, body relaxed, feeling warm from orgasm and the stinging pain of Chris still pumping into him. That burn grows when a few minutes later Chris comes too with a heavy groan and fingers pressing too hard into flesh that Tom can feel it in his bones; hopes the imprints will last forever.
He feels sweaty and filthy and used when Chris pulls out to fall on top of him, lets go of his throat and hip in favor of panting hard against his chest. His body tenses up when he feels fingers at his entrance, circling the too-sensitive rim as cum starts to leak out of his body, rubbing it over the stinging flesh and pushing globs back in. Tom can’t help but moan, wrapping his arms around Chris’s neck to bury his face into the top of his hair.
“Next time,” Chris breathes out, pressing a single finger inside Tom’s loosened hole, feeling around his aching muscles and coating them all with his cum. “Don’t keep me waiting outside so long.”
Tom nods, but it’s a lie. He will, just to make sure Chris does this to him again. Over and over and over.
Chapter 24: Sneak Attack!
He should be used to this by now, but every time it happens, Tom is blindsided by it. It’s gotten to the point where Robert is nudging him as a hint and every time Jeremy swings by him he whispers a quick ‘heads up!’ in his ear before disappearing, but Tom still doesn’t catch on fast enough and the more it happens, the more he is deciding he might deserve this. Not for his actions, but because he’s still taken by surprise whenever Chris corners him and has that look in this eye.
This time he was in the shower, a vulnerable location he’s finding Chris likes to exploit, and there is no time to escape before he’s pressed up against the wall under the shower spray while his arms are pulled up over his head.
“Chris—what the hell—sto—“ His words are cut off with a brutal kiss, which he knows is a distraction, but he falls for it anyway, eyes closing as a tongue is shoved into his mouth and the warm water falling over them both relaxes Tom’s body. He just barely hears the click when the handcuffs close around his wrists, trapping him under the shower’s spray and keeping his arms high up locked on the shower head.
When Chris finally pulls away, Tom is panting and glaring up at him, water dripping into his eyes as he stands naked and wet in the running shower. Chris is still dressed but just as equally wet, his hair sticking around his face and his eyes gleaming with hunger as he looks Tom up and down.
“What was it this time?” Tom replies, trying to look as angry as he possibly can while his cock is slowly growing very fond of Chris’s eyes on him. His entire body is hot now, a red blush creeping from his cheeks down his chest that has nothing to do with the hot water running down his body.
“You’re too nice.” Chris replies back simply and moves in to start kissing his way down Tom’s jaw, turning into nips and bites and suction as he goes down further.
It takes a while for Tom to think straight, to stop concentrating on the feeling of teeth digging into his skin to really hear Chris’s words and trying to think back in the past few days when he might have been ‘too nice’.
“Are you—shit—Chris—s-stop. Ah, ah, it’s…you were jealous of—of what? Me signing a-autographs?!” He can barely think as Chris moves further down, kneeling on the wet shower tiles to bite red marks into Tom’s stomach that make him squirm, wrists pulling on the cuffs out of reflex and earning the dull edge of pain because of it. “Chris!”
He took his time to suck a bright red mark right above Tom’s belly button, nipping at it harshly just to hear Tom hiss as he pulls away. “Flirting.” He states blatantly with a glare, his fingers digging into the skin of Tom’s hips, making him jerk in an attempt to get away. “You were flirting with them.”
“I was—I was being nice!” Tom chokes out, pulling on his wrists as Chris moves lower on his body, nuzzling in nose down the trail of hair and his fingers curled around to squeeze his ass. He bit his lip as Chris’s blunt nails scratched into his skin, spreading his cheeks and making Tom arch and wriggle.
Even with the violent nature of Chris’s actions and Tom’s struggles to get away, he is blatantly growing hard under the attention and there was no way to stop it under Chris’s expert hand.
“You’re too nice.” Chris mutters softly against Tom’s skin, kissing down his hips to the bass of Tom’s filling cock. “They take it the wrong way.”
“You take it the wrong way!” Tom hisses, glaring down as he jerks once more under the spray. Chris only glares back and there’s a few seconds in which they simply stare at each other, waiting for the other to back down. Normally it’s Tom, blinking and shying away, but this time he’s had enough. There is silence except for the water pitter-pattering down against the tile and the pair standing underneath. Neither backing down nor blinking as the water falls into their eyes, burning.
The next few seconds happened so fast, Tom’s head starts to spin. That, or it is the very sudden lack of blood in his brain as every last drop of it heads south. Even if Tom doesn’t want to back down, Chris still holds the advantage and there is no hesitation when he uses it. All of a sudden Tom’s cock is pulsing in Chris’s mouth, hot and wet as he jerks against his bonds and fears his shoulders might pop out by the force. Chris grins with his full mouth and bobs his head, bringing more of Tom’s dick into his mouth.
“Son of a—fucking—prick!” Tom manages to shout out, but the curses fall on deaf ears as all Chris does is suck harder on the length in his mouth. He curses further, going so far as to start threatening death when nothing else seems to work, but all he is given in return is more suction to his cock and Chris’s damned eyes looking back up at him, mocking.
He’s about ready to give up and just let Chris finish up sucking him off when he feels slick fingers at his ass and tenses up all over again, struggling once more because this is just too much.
“All because of some—AH!” He bites his bottom lip, squeezing his eyes closed tight when the first soap-slick finger enters him with a slight burn, quickly thrusting in time to Chris’s bobbing head. “Some f-fucking—Nh!” He grunts, biting his lip this time and trying to pull away from the fingers intruding into his body, pressing deep and making his muscles tense. “Fucking FANS!” He screams now, the word leaving his throat breathless, so he can only pant as he tries to find air for his lungs again.
Chris pulls off of his cock with a hard suck. For a moment, Tom thinks it might be some sort of pity, but one look down indicates that it’s anything but. The addition of a hand pumping him and a third finger squeezing its way inside his body is also a fairly good indicator. Chris is grinning like a jackass, resting his cheek against Tom’s thigh as his fingers keep fucking into him and his fists tightens around his cock.
Normally, at times like these, Chris would demand Tom call out who he belonged to—that he wouldn’t let him come unless he remembered exactly who’s he was—but it’s gotten to the point where that doesn’t matter anymore. Chris knows Tom will always be his and Tom is well aware of that fact as well. All this is just a matter of reestablishing that; of proving some stupid point in Chris’s eyes. It’s pathetic and childish and all Tom wants to do is punch him in his smug face right now, but his balls are drawing tight right as Chris finally brushes over his prostate and his hips jerk back to meet his fingers.
It’s all downhill from there.
He’s lost in the sensation, wanting to fuck himself onto Chris’s fingers into his ass and thrust up into his fist. There’s no point fighting it now, so Tom doesn’t and just gives in. It only takes a few more minutes then, when every muscle in his body finally tenses up and he comes all over Chris’s hand, moaning loud with it.
Chris is still grinning as he pulls back and wipes the cum on Tom’s thigh, letting the shower water wash it away quickly. He eases out his fingers and stands, letting Tom’s legs give out under him so his arms have to support all his weight. It’s slightly sadistic, watching Tom dangle there in the shower, water dripping over him as his arms strain and stretch above him, his knees just barely brushing the bottom of the shower. Only for a second, really, before he’s taking Tom’s weight in his arms and unlocking the cuffs from around the shower head.
As soon as he’s free, Tom collapses in Chris’s hold, leaving him to turn off the shower and carry him out. He blinks, glares, blurry-eyed and tired up at the other when he’s wrapped into a fluffy white towel and carried to bed.
“You’re still a jealous prick.” Tom grumbles, scooting away from Chris as he’s placed on the bed, turning away from the other man.
From behind him, Chris laughs, leaning down to place a kiss to the top of Tom’s wet curls. “I know, but that’s why you love me.”
Even so, Tom thinks, that doesn’t make his last comment any less true.
Chapter 25: How to Handle Hangovers (Or, Chili's and Dicks)
When Chris looked at the clock and realized it was almost half-past two, he knew something was wrong. Well, not technically. Not when you take into account they had gotten Tom shit-faced last night until 3 in the morning and the only reason they stopped because they noticed Tom was unconscious and drooling all over the table with a glass still half full of vodka. Not being a big drinker, Tom was probably attempting to sleep off his hangover, but a straight twelve hours may be pushing it.
Chris brought up a peace offering with him, just in case.
He had made it into the hotel room without hearing a sound. They had put Tom in bed, but Chris looked into the bathroom just in case Tom got up to puke in the middle of the night (well, early morning) and decided to just sleep with his arms around the toilet. Nope. He must still be in the bed.
The whole room was dark when he opened the door, lights off and curtains pulled tight to let in almost no sunlight at all. There was a three second time period where Chris almost thought the Tom-shaped lump in the middle of the bed was dead. There was no movement or sound at all, which was just a little bit concerning, until he called out for the final time a little louder “Tom?” and a soft groan was admitted to from the lump, which only brought forth an even louder groan, which turned into a soft sob as the bedding all shifted around in a frantic bundle before settling down once more into a smaller fetal-position-Tom-shaped lump.
Chris smiled softly. Yeah, he was alive, but definitely hung over. He moved over to the curtains, hand up to draw them back when a pillow hit him in the back, making him pause and look over at the blankets that where shifting about once more. His eyes caught the fleeting glimpse of a pale hand before it disappeared under the comforter. Chris couldn’t help but laugh.
“If you open those, I will hate you more then I already do.” Came a muffled voice from the bed and Chris could almost see the glare that he knew was attached to them. “And give me back my pillow.” The pale hand shot, waving about in search of his lost comfort. “I need it.”
Chris decided to be nice—sort of—and threw the pillow back. It hit the Tom-lump a little too hard and a loud pain-filled moan admitted from the sheets. A moment later there was a bit more shifting as the arm disappeared and out popped Tom’s head, hair spiked up and angled in clumps of curls jutting out in all directions. His eyes were half closed in a glare, looking tired and dazed. It was probably one of the first times Chris has not seen Tom wake up looking majestic.
“You did this to me.” Tom hissed quietly, trying to keep his voice down in an attempt to keep his head from pounding too hard.
Chris just shrugged, not sympathy at all. “It’s almost three.”
“You’re the devil.” Tom growled before throwing the blankets back over his head to hide from all light and sound.
“I’ve brought you food.”
Tom poked his head out again. Chris rolled his eyes, but there was still a smirk on his lips as he looked down at the other, shaking the bag loud enough that Tom could hear it. He winced softly, but still didn’t run back into his hiding spot. He watched Tom’s face, how it calculated whether he really wanted the food enough to risk getting up. His eyes kept darting from the take-out bag to Chris, glaring every time he got up to the Australian.
There was a long silence as Tom thought about Chris’s offering. After a minute or two, he finally spoke, his voice was tentative, quiet, but it was there. Chris took that as a good sign. “…is it a chicken sandwich?”
“Yes,” Chris took a step closer, away from the window and the curtains as a sign of peace, waving the bag in front of Tom’s face. “Grilled with extra honey mustard on the side. Just how you like it.” He added the last bit to get some extra brownie points. By the way Tom moved about to sit up—slowly, with the comforter still wrapped around him—Chris decided it had worked.
A hand reached out for the bag, silently telling Chris that he was still not totally forgive, but at the same time he did need something for this hangover and he was starving. Chris only moved the necessary distance to hand Tom the meal, stepping back to watch with maybe too much amusement as Tom ate.
Even with a hangover and a growling stomach, he was delicate with it. He ate the sandwich first, being careful to not let one bit of bacon fall away from him. He dipped the sandwich into the extra dressing on every second bite and even waited for it to stop dripping before biting into it. He paused a few times to nibble on the French fries, though most of them went untouched. He also found a bottle of water at the bottom of the bag, draining most of its contents before neatly putting all the crash inside the bag once more and throwing it into the waste-paper basket by the bed. He quickly recovered himself after that, curling back into his ball in the middle of the bed to hide from the fact that he was still awake.
“You can go now.”
That voice wasn’t a ‘I forgive you for getting me pissed last night and making me wake up to demons inside my body’, that was a ‘Thanks for the food, but you still suck and I need to sleep before I even think about liking you again’ and it was obvious that Chris couldn’t leave with just that. It simply wouldn’t work.
“Nope.” He finally said, moving forward to climb onto the bed, much to Tom’s displeasure which he showed when he pulled the blankets back far enough to form a little peep hole in his cocoon so he could glare out at his co-star. “What? I’m not done making you feel better.”
“If you want me to feel better get me an aspirin and a new liver.”
“How about I just blow you instead?”
The sound he heard come from the sheets was very undignified—something in between choked-off squeal and a hate filled growl. Chris decided it was a bad idea to laugh.
“Just because you brought me Chili’s doesn’t mean you can get into my pants. I’m not your Chili’s-whore.”
Chris couldn’t help but snicker at this, starting the long process of stripping away Tom from his well-formed cocoon of bedding. Thankfully enough, Chris was stronger and Tom was too weak to hold a proper grip. It took a few minutes of tug-a-war and some cheap pinching moves, but Chris finally tore the blankets and sheets from Tom’s body, throwing them to the ground. Tom groaned loudly, whining as he curled into a ball and closed his eyes tight even though the only light that came into the room was the casting glow from the other room.
“Don’t be a baby.” Chris rolled his eyes, grabbing at Tom’s legs to pull them apart. When Tom finally realized that there was no use fighting it, his body went entirely limp as Chris position him, legs spread out as he nuzzled into his hip. He was still naked from the night before—it took Chris a hell of a long time to get him undressed while drug, but he managed and wasn’t going to mess with getting Tom into proper pajamas. He could sleep naked. Which, right now, was a good thing. “Besides,” He muttered, licking a long strip up Tom’s length, feeling him jump at the touch. “An orgasm will help with the headache. “
“That’s not the po—INT!” Tom shrieked out as Chris sucked hard on the head of his cock, quickly getting him very, very interested in what else that mouth had in store for him, even if his head throbbed in protest. “Just—get off me!” Tom attempted to kick out, but Chris still held his legs, keeping them spread as he tongued at Tom’s foreskin, dipping underneath to make Tom groan softly.
Chris looked up, licking his lips and grinned. “Would you rather I just plow into you?” He had to laugh at Tom’s face of distain. “Oh, come on, love.” He purred out, rubbing his crotch against Tom’s leg, letting him feel just how excited he was to help Tom with his headache. “You’ll love it.”
“Dear god, I hate you.” Tom glared, letting his entire body go limp once more, which was essentially enough consent for Chris right now who grinned, pulling back to grab the bottle of lotion from the nightstand that they used a few nights ago. He returned to prop Tom’s leg’s up on his shoulders, unzipping his pants and pulling them down his hips enough to free his cock. “And I hate your dick. Hate it.”
“Oh, please.” He slicked up two fingers, pressing one in and only felt Tom tense a little before going totally compliant once more under his touch. “You love my dick. Just love it.” Another finger slipped in quickly, pressing and stretching Tom until he could shove in another finger, hearing Tom’s breathe hitch in his throat and couldn’t help grinning. “Look at you? I mean—your body is so easy to stretch out. It’s so used to my dick, it’s made for it! If I left, you’d come after me.” He thrust his fingers inside Tom’s body, angle so he brushed against his prostate, hard enough so Tom could feel it but soft enough to still be teasing. “Remember that time you rode me? Hopped up on my cock and just took it—sucked me down and groaned like a—“
“Chris.” Tom interrupted, pushing up on his elbows to glare at him. “I am currently so hung over, you are lucky I even remember which Chris you are, let alone some random time when I rode you. So, if you do not fuck me right now—”
In the span of Tom little speech, Chris had removed his fingers from Tom’s hole, slicked up his cock, and shoved in his cock so hard Tom’s stopped talking (and he might have choked on his own tongue, but Chris wasn’t paying that much attention with that wonderful heat swallowing him whole). Tom looked down at him, mouth open in awe. Chris grinned.
“Remember which Chris I am now?”
He pulled out and thrust in quicker—harder, just so Tom really got the idea of which Chris was currently fucking his pretty little hole. The force of it had Tom’s arms gave out under him. He hit the bed with a little bounce, bouncing again and again as Chris quickened his pace, not giving Tom enough time to catch his breath long enough to talk. The only thing that came out of his mouth were little cut off moans and pants and sounds that, when put together, Chris was pretty sure formed the words ‘hate’, ‘cock’, and ‘more’.
Tom’s cock bounced about against his stomach, completely hard as Chris pounded into his willing body. His limps were now tense, trying to keep himself from coming too fast as that lovely cock pressed into him over and over again, stabbing at his prostate every time. He knew it was all over when Chris wrapped a hand around him. On every thrust in, Tom’s body jerked, his hips bouncing to make his dick fuck into Chris’s hand. His head was pounding, but it felt too good to push Chris away, being so close—so—
He cried out some nonsense as he came, head throbbing and back arching up off the bed. He squeezed around the dick inside him, giving Chris the last sensation he needed to come as well, spilling inside Tom’s body with a loud groan, trying to muffle it in the side of Tom’s thigh, sucking a bruise into the pale flesh.
Coming down, Chris had enough sense still to roll over before falling on Tom. He panted, watching as the other male composed himself enough to grab the discarded blankets on the floor, curl them around his body once more and hide away, not caring about the cum currently dripping out of him and getting the sheets all messy.
“I still hate you.” Came the muffled voice. Chris simply chuckled, pulling the bundle into a tight hug and kissing where he thought Tom’s head would be.
“I’ll bring up some aspirin for round two.”
Chapter 26: How each Avenger (and their director) fell in love with Tom.
At first, she really had no opinion. He was a nice British gentleman who would always hold the door open for her, even when it really wasn’t necessary. He always minded his manners and never forgot the ‘yes, please’ and ‘thank you’. He’d smile and joke in a way that was almost too humble. At moments, it even annoyed her. How he was so caring and thoughtful and nice.
For the first few days, she thought he was only pretending, but her mind quickly changed when he decided to sit down and have a conversation with a child watching them film from the sidelines, still dressed as Loki. She saw the genuine amusement in Tom’s eyes as the little boy started talking none stop about this and that and wielded the plastic Thor hammer around his head. And Tom…Tom listened to every word.
Her heart melted.
He remembered it quite well. He didn’t even have to meet Tom in person; he simply had to watch ‘Thor’. Of course, he watched a few other movies with Tom, just to see, but none of them really mattered. He just wanted to know if he could pull off Loki and pull him off right. By the end of it, he was laughing at himself, wondering how in his right mind he could have seconded guessed Kenneth’s decision.
He started the movie over for the third time with a smile on his face. As Tom came up on screen once more, Jose whispered to himself, “Yeah, I don’t think he’ll be an issue…”
They were at a bar when it happened, when Tom won Mark’s heart. Everyone else had called it in for the night, but Tom was still jittering from the adrenaline of their last shot and Mark simply couldn’t sleep. So they drank beer and talked for the night, about how crazy it was they were in this huge movie, how lucky. About what they’ve lost and gained and struggled through. And when Mark told him about all the shit in his life; about his struggles with jobs and finding who he was and what he loved and dealing with the ideas of death, when he was done with all that, Tom didn’t say he was ‘sorry’ like most people. Mark didn’t find sympathy in his eyes or pity. He just saw Tom, staring back at him with a half smile growing larger on his face and he said:
“But hell, look where you are now? I’d drink to that any day.”
Mark just laughed, not expecting such an answer. They clinked bottles together and downed the last bit of their beers just as Mark ordered another round.
If Robert squinted, he could legitimately say he hated Tom…at first. Which still made him sort of hate the guy, because there was some part of him that wanted to hate Tom simply because no one else did. The only problem was the guy made it so hard. Yet, Robert was determined and managed to keep up his spite for almost a month until he cracked. With one word too. Damn, he made it too easy.
“What did you just say? That last part—the word.” Robert asked quickly before the conversation could continue. Tom had been telling some story to Chris and Jeremy with Robert only half paying attention until that one word—
“What? You mean ‘fuck’?”
Robert felt his throat go dry and his heart skip a beat. It was a stupid word that people over used all the time, but he had never heard Tom use it before. The man barely cursed, let alone throw out the f-bomb.
Before he could careless, but now all he wanted to do was make Tom say ‘fuck’, over and over and over again.
Jeremy remembered it to the very second.
It had been an extra long and hot day of shooting and, okay, sure his costume wasn’t the worse one to wear in the sun, but leather is still leather and it still gets fucking hot as hell. When the day was finally called, he was practically ripping his costume off before he even got into the proper trailer.
When he walked out, Tom was standing around waiting for everyone with a cooler of beer at his feet and a cold one in his hand, offering it to Jeremy as he came down the few steps.
“You looked like you needed this, mate.” He said with a grin. At that moment, Jeremy was so happy he actually leaned in and kissed him. It was love at first sight.
They were going to call his name any second now. He was about to walk out on stage. And he still couldn’t breathe.
“Hey, man, come on. You’ve got to relax.” Tom said and there was concern in his eyes. Real concern.
Chris still couldn’t breathe. His throat was closed up, lungs not working properly, and maybe he’d get really lucky and just pass out right when he’s walking across stage. Right when everyone—
A hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing gently, but it was hard enough to knock him out of his own thoughts and force him to gasp in lungfuls of air.
Chris looked up into cool blue eyes and a bright smile. The hand still rested on his shoulder.
They called his name and both of them could hear the crowd scream. He took a step forward and the comforting grip on his shoulder fell away. He never wanted it to leave.
There is no moment he can remember; no one point in time he can pin down and truly say, ‘Yes, this is it. This is when you stole my heart.’ He wasn’t sure it was when they first met or when they read lines together or when they went out for lunch.
He simply has and does. He loves Tom and always will.
It’s the way he smiles.
It’s the way he laughs.
And says his name.
He just loves it.
No matter what.
Chapter 27: The Last Bit of Mischief
From my thought process on tumblr where Tom steals the Loki costume from SDCC and Chris fucks him over the couch....
And…well, I swear I didn’t mean for these emotions to happen. I blame the music I’m listening to while writing. I don’t even know. I feel like I’m saying goodbye or something.
So, uh, have some emotions and porn, I guess. You can send all crying and hate to my askbox, don’t worry. I still love you all.
It’s a combination of sweet talk and puppy eyes that gets him the costume for the night. It’s a miracle in itself, but somehow when he mentions it might be his last time wearing it, the costume department sighs heavily and lets him take it with him for the night. He swear it’ll be in one piece by the time he returns it in the morning, thanks them over and over again as he takes it all back to the hotel with him feeling little a giddy little boy.
Chris is there watching TV on the couch, can’t even get two words in as Tom flies into the room and shuts himself up in the bathroom with whatever heavy looking cases he’d just dragged in behind him. Sure, Chris hadn’t been at the panel, but then again he was technically there for the convention (not that he would tell anyone else that, seeing as this was all very private and secret and all hush-hush so neither of them got chewed out by everyone for it). It’s their own little ‘last hurrah’ as Tom just might not be back doing anymore movies. The villain had run his time, shown in the spotlight, and now it was time to move on to someone else and flesh out another storyline. It wasn’t like they’d never see each other again, because of course they were still friends, but it was still something like goodbye.
Almost three hours later, Tom emerged from the bathroom looking tired, but also looking a lot more like Loki. He didn’t have the black hair and some of the armor parts were missing, but it was the Loki that Chris remembered seeing months ago while filming none the less—a sight he figured he’d be unable to see again after they were done with the movie.
“Tom,” Chris choked out, eyes going a bit wide as the cooking show he was watching quickly became forgotten as, almost sheepishly, Tom walked out towards him with a little ‘ta-da!’ look on his face. “What…they let you take it?”
“For the night,” Tom said, laughing softly as he ran his hands down the front of the leather coat, fingers trailing down the teeth of zippers. “I wanted to surprise you. Seeing as you didn’t get to see me in it earlier and, well, you know.”
He did. They both did and, for a moment, the air between them was somber and thick with too many emotion neither of them wanted to speak aloud, but at the same time they didn’t have to, because both of them just knew, plain and simple.
Chris shook his head, breaking the trance they were both in, took in a lungful of air that didn’t taste so stale and gestured Tom over. “Come here, I want to touch you.”
So, Tom came over and straddle Chris’s lap as best he couch in the unforgiving leather pants, making his thighs tense and strain as he threaded his fingers through Chris’s hair. Chris’s own hands pressed against the leather across Tom’s chest, feeling the softly worn texture of it, the contrast of the warmed leather to the colder metal and fabric underneath. He pressed until he felt Tom’s chest against his palm, could feel his breathing and how it was coming in shorter intakes, his heart pounding just hard enough so Chris was able to feel it under all the layers of material.
He moved past the coat, going to trace down Tom’s back to the familiar curve of his ass clad in the tight pants, gripping hard and watched as Tom’s head tilted back with a little gasp on his lips while Chris pulled him closer so their fronts were touching. Tom had to brace himself on at the back of the couch, feeling his entire body heat up greatly from the close contact and roaming touch as Chris continued to knee his ass even with the thick leather.
“You hard?” Chris asked, voice deeper down as his own hips jerked up so Tom could feel the thick heat of his length through his jeans, making him moan.
Tom shook his head, worry his bottom lip between his teeth until it was slick and swollen. “Yeah. Yeah, these trousers are just…hmm, bit difficult to get comfortable in.”
Chris chuckles, shakes his head and just continues to fondle Tom through the leather, thrust up to their hips meet.
There’s no reason to ask, because the answer is always yes, yes, and so Chris does just that—leans up those few inches to connect their lips in something that is just soft at first. Slow as they remember the contour of each other’s mouths, let’s their tongues come into place only when they’re both satisfied with the flavor of lips and need to indulge further. It’s still slow, lazy, old lovers exploring familiar territory that will simply never get old. It’s nice, in that sense, but after some time they have to part ways to breathe, panting heavily with only a breath’s space between them, inhaling and exhaling shared air together. Tom’s cupping Chris’s jaw and Chris has a strong hold on Tom’s waist. Their eyes are both blown dark as the desperation between them intensifies.
Everything is quiet for a second, two, and then Chris runs his nails up Tom’s back, hard enough that he can feel it through the costume to which Tom arches into the scratch and squeezes hard at Chris’s shoulders for support.
“Now. Now, I think. Chris.” He moaned out, because they both need this right now. Both want it and it’s about time for them to let go.
Of course, Chris agrees. Of course and there is no more words that need to be said, because Chris is pulling Tom from his lap only to get him on his knees, shove him down over the arm of the sofa and pushes the layers of leather out of the way. Tom’s grip on the couch is knuckle-white, thrusting his hips back as he looks over his shoulder to watch Chris work. He’s got a bright lust in his eyes, a light that makes his eyes spark with need and the mounting pressure inside his body, wanting to burst.
It takes longer than either of them want for Chris to get the pants down, clinging too much to Tom’s sweaty skin so they’re only moved down enough to expose his ass to work with. The cool air makes Tom moan, the touch of Chris’s hand against his skin makes him moan even louder, but then he’s being spread over and suddenly he can’t breathe at all as Chris doesn’t hesitate at all, licks a wet strip right down his cleft to lap at his twitching hole. He’s keening, trying to shove back, but Chris has a hard grip at his hips, so Tom can do little more than simply take it—pant hard for some sort of air as Chris licks him open, fucks him shallowly with his tongue and Tom can just feel the saliva dripping from Chris’s mouth, getting everything wet to drip down to his balls. He’d be happy to come just like this, Tom figures, getting eaten out and chanting Chris’s name over and over again until he’s dizzy with it.
But that’s not the plan tonight, so after Chris knows Tom’s thoroughly soaked, he pulls away with a hard suck to the pucker and moves away for a moment to leave Tom to catch his breath.
He’s only alone for a few beats of his rapidly moving heart, feeling the weight of Chris return as he kneels behind him on the couch once more and just as suddenly there are two fingers pushing inside of him, slicked up and ready, making him hiss and groan with the intrusion. He can take it though, Chris knows his limits and the two fingers is not nearly enough, but it’s a good place to start as he scissors Tom open, crooking the digits and thrusts into him, making him moan. It’s wet and sloppy and the addition of a third finger makes a little squelch, the new stretch has Tom thrusting back for more.
It’s not long before Tom’s gagging for it, entrance gaping as the fingers are removed and Tom looks behind him to see Chris with his jeans just down far enough to get his dick out, slicking it up with lube. Everything hot, leather clinging to him, his own cock is hard and trapped within the folds of fabric, throbbing, wanting to be touched, but he’s too concerned with keeping his hold on the couch to worry much, not wanting to fall.
Tom’s muttering out ‘please, please, please’ even as Chris presses into him, rubbing the head of his cock against the pink hole getting it even wetter then it was before finally pushing his whole length inside. Tom hisses out his agreement, chest pressed hard against the arm which makes breathing hard, but he could care less right now as he’s filled up and stretched to perfection.
The pace is anything like the slow burn that they started with. Now the only things left are desperation and a wanton lust to come undone wrapped in the head of each other’s bodies. Chris pounds into Tom hard, skin slapping skin and watching as Tom’s ass moves with the hard thrusts. It’s beautiful, wonderful, feeling the tight heat of Tom’s body and the harsh bite of leather as he drags his cock out only to move right back in.
Tom’s moaning loud, panting, shifting his hips back to meet each thrust and angling his body so every other movement drags along his prostate to make him see sparks of white behind his eyes. Everything feel so heavy and hot within the confines of the costume, but it just makes every movement feel that much more real as his body takes it, aches for it, tries so desperately to keep up even as he’s unraveling at the seams. He can feel that Chris isn’t far off either, as his hips stutter at points, the power of each thrust is uneven, and somewhere far off in the distance Tom realizes he can hear his own voice begging for Chris to come, finish they both off.
Chris leans over Tom’s body, pressing the weight of his own down over Tom’s back and scraps his teeth over Tom’s ear, nipping at the skin of his neck. “Come on,” He says, voice all gruff and labored. “I want to feel you.” His hands come up to Tom’s chest, pressing hard and scratching down so Tom can feel the drag of nails against his nipples making him sob brokenly as his entire body seizes up, tightens, and—“Loki—Tom.” He’s coming, coming hard without being touched except for the hard squeeze of his cock inside leather.
Chris moans with him, holds him tight as his own movements speed up, harder, faster, until he’s groaning loud right in Tom’s ear, coming inside him with shallow thrusts as his body finally gives out.
They’re body hot, heavy, sticky with sweat and lube and come. They fall onto the small couch together, even if it is uncomfortable, wrapped up in each other’s arms like they’ve done so many times before and somehow they just make it work.
Chris has got his finger combing through Tom’s curly hair and Tom’s tucked up against Chris’s chest, listening to his heart.
“You called me Loki.” He says after a few minutes, hugging Chris all the tighter to which the embrace is returned.
“Figured it might be the last time someone ever calls you that in the right outfit.” Chris kisses Tom’s forehead. “I wanted it to be me.”
It’s nice. It’s nice knowing that, even if it is bitter sweet, but it’s nice all that same and so Tom is thankful for it. They’re both content, in the moment, even if this does mean Tom’s sort of leaving them all. Even if it won’t be the same on sets with all of them and Tom will be left out of the Assemble texts and their drunken nights out will be lacking in a certain fantastic dancer and no one will have to lose money to Loki at the ping pong table or worry about Tom and Robert playing pranks or stolen props or—
They try not to think about it.
It doesn’t work.
So, instead, Tom just snorts out a bit of laughter and shakes his head.
“I’ve got to return this thing tomorrow. Covered in sweat and semen.”
Chris laughs too because, well, what a way to go out.
With a bang and the entire world shouting your name.
Worthy enough for a god.
Chapter 28: Pressure
Chris gets snuffed.
His breathe was getting shaky now. It shouldn’t, he knew it shouldn’t, because four fingers wasn’t that much. He could take it. But the idea of taking more was making his lungs constrict, made his body shudder, which was almost partly because every time Tom turned his fingers the knuckles of them dragged over his prostate, making him bite down on his tongue in an attempt not to whine from the sensation of too much.
Chris had come once already with three fingers inside of him, massaging his prostate expertly as Tom kept his mouth bobbing up and down on his cock. It didn’t take only for him to be drained, having Tom bend down further to make sure every drop of cum caught on his tongue so he could swallow it down.
It was meant to relax him, coming, and it did work for a while, because Chris felt utterly boneless under Tom’s hands now. That is, until he rubbed the fourth fingers around his rim, pressing in with a squelch of lube which made Chris arch, gasp, call out the number as he was instructed to do. There was just Tom’s thumb left out now, that and the rest of his hand which was somehow supposed to fit inside him—something Chris was growing more and more skeptical of happening as time went by, even if his cock throbbed in hopes of taking every bit of that hand inside him. It would happen, he knew, because there was no way Chris had gotten this far and use his safeword now.
There’s a second of pause to breathe, pull in air to his struggling lungs, where Tom is kissing at his hips giving him time and mouthing sweet soundless words into his skin. It ease his again, makes him relax even as every nerve ending in his body starts to light anew. The press of the thumb isn’t surprising, Chris knows it’s coming, but the added stretch with it leaves his joints locked up. He’s still as it slides in, eyes wide open looking up at the ceiling and not breathing, can’t breathe, if he does it might break something inside him, force him to give up. Once the thumb is finished it’s short distance in, the burn slowly grows into an ache that Chris gets accustom too.
Tom doesn’t move. He knows how this feels, has been through it all before, and here Chris is taking his fingers all too well just because Tom had asked him to. He hadn’t complained in the slightest, just smiled with a nod and said yes. Yes because it would make Tom happy, yes because he wanted to, yes because the feeling of being that full would be overwhelming and he needed to experience it.
“Five.” Somehow, he managed to continue the count. He never knew counting to five would be so difficult. It’s a sign that Chris is comfortable, letting his muscles relax around the width of those fingers, prepared for the coming stretch of the rest of Tom’s hand. His palm, the heel of it, slip down right to his wrist and feel the fingers curl up inside him, ball together, fuck him open like he’s never been fucked before.
Inside him, Tom wiggles his fingers which only makes Chris’s eyes shoot open and he opens, shifting a bit at the tickling sensation and the pressure against his prostate. Tom can’t help but giggle ever so slightly, which only makes Chris glare back at him.
“Don’t give me that,” Tom says, except he still wiggles the digits, still makes Chris jerk, still receives the glare.
“You’re the one teasing me.” Chris replies, voice tight as he inhales, feeling the fingers all press forward for a second, testing, and if Tom pressed that much harder he’s start to slip in.
“You’re really warm on the inside, you know?” Tom replies, ignores Chris’s look of pleasure and distress. It sounds almost poetic on his tongue, like many things do, except this time he’s got five fingers up Chris’s ass and going for the rest of his hand in a moment. “All soft and smooth…” Chris can feel the pads of Tom’s fingers stroking him from the inside, feels his heart pound in his chest, through his body, all the way down until he can hear it echo off Tom’s skin. “I wonder if I can keep you open too look inside.”
Chris makes a sound that’s distinctly not a whimper, but it’s pathetic and wanting and hating all at the same time. He can’t take much more of this. He’s frantic, sweaty, shaking right down to his bones and for fucksake Tom stop talking and just get on with it!
He almost jumps when cold lube touches his heated skin. It’s another sensation he doesn’t want, but desperately craves, as Tom slicks up his hand, up to his wrist and around Chris’s rim once more. Better safe then sorry. The push comes next; it’s slow and drawn out, stealing the oxygen from Chris’s lungs. Tom’s hands are big, really big, but right now Chris thinks they are simply impossible. It’s feeling filled to the very brim, stretched out to the point of breaking, and he has to stop and wonder if he has. There’s words falling from Tom’s lips, all soft and cooed out, layered with light kisses to his thighs, but Chris doesn’t hear them. The palm’s inside him, like fire in his body, and down the widest part is next making Chris groan out and grasp against the sheets until his knuckles are white. He’s shaking all over, shivering with his attempts at not moving.
It feels like a life time of pain, the undertone of pleasure, fingers going so far inside of his body, all the sensations of being too much, too much, stop stop please—
There’s a gasp. Chris gasped. The sharp inhale makes him dizzy, but at least he’s breathing again. Tom’s hand slips inside him, his entrance closing tight around Tom’s wrist and both of them moan with that almost at the same time.
Chris is panting. His cock his leaking against his stomach, half hard, as he tries to catalogue all these sensations. Tom’s gone quiet, pulled back enough to look down and just stare, because his entire hand was inside Chris now. Fuck, it felt like he could stroke the rest of his organs from where he was. Licking his lips, Tom continues maybe a bit faster then Chris would have liked. Slowly he curls his fingers, inching them closer to form his full fist and Chris is making that pathetic sound again, shoots up to grab at Tom’s forearm, making him wince at the sudden shift, and Tom stops long enough to look at Chris.
Both of them have eyes so dilated the blues within them are almost gone. They’re both breathing too hard, sharing the air between them, only a few inches apart. They stare, keep staring, as Tom finishes his fist and Chris let’s his mouth fall open further. Chris keeps his hold on Tom, feels some sort of comfort in it, knowing Tom was right there with him.
And then there is movement. Tom pulls out just enough, then pushes back in, over and over until Chris is ready to scream. He’s hot, heavy, and he’s completely ready to come again. Come any second. He’s so fucking full right now, so stretched out and wet. Everything seems so intense, so sudden and sharp and bright. Chris gasps again at the press to his prostate, being the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Tom captures his lips in a kiss, steals his air, right as Chris comes. His entire body tensed up, making him feel every line of Tom’s hand inside of him as it shifts little by little, making his orgasm that much more intense.
He thinks that he blacks out at some point, because when his eyes can focus again he’s on his back looking up at the ceiling again, panting softly with the feeling of suddenly being so empty aching through his body.
Tom’s beside him, kissing at his neck and running his tongue up and down the salty skin. He’s got a washcloth in his hand, warm water, cleaning them both up. Chris doesn’t know when Tom came, but by the look of his now softened dick it is quite obvious he did without Chris realizing it.
Chris can’t figure out how to work his tongue just yet, how speaking works, but that’s alright. Tom doesn’t need words right now and the silence is thank you enough.