Darling (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

18: billie darling, a dream, a decision

We don't make it far inside the front door before Tom pulls me into his arms. I'm all too aware of us. Our bodies. The way we fit together. The way he smells, the way he tastes, the noises he makes as I kiss him. It is overwhelming, a luscious, delicious attack on all my senses.

"Are you sure?" He asks softly, his mouth near to mine, I can feel his breath on my lips. He seems tense, and I can practically hear his thoughts racing, waiting for me to answer. I answer with a kiss and then a nod, grabbing onto his arms and squeezing.

"Are you sure?" I hold my breath as I return the question, because suddenly we both seem to realize what I mean. That perhaps, he has more to lose. That I'm far from a perfect person, in the midst of chaos and change, and his life is already complicated enough. Neither of us knows what this will mean. How this could change things.

"The first time I saw you...you scared me to death." He answers after a beat, and we both laugh quietly, remembering that terrible meeting on Sam and Rachel's deck. I shake my head, softly laughing as I bury my face briefly in his chest. Tom pulls back, reaching for me as he gently tips my face up, toward him.

"You still scare me to death, Billie." He swallows, and I watch the muscles in his neck work, the serious line of his mouth. My heart is racing in my chest, and I know what he means because I feel the same way.

"I've purposefully shut myself off. For years now." He's speaking low, his voice barely above a whisper but it permeates deep into my bones. "But I can't, for the life of me, stay away from you." His words make my heart skip, and I push onto my tip toes, covering his mouth with mine.

"Don't then. Please, don't." I whisper, breathless as we come together. Tom gathers me in his arms, holding me tight, nearly pressing the air from my lungs. The last time this happened, we were interrupted. And I can't let that happen this time.

"Gemma. Where's Gems?" I manage to whisper as Tom starts slipping his warm, big hands underneath my shirt. He nuzzles his face into my neck, and I feel delirious, as if I'm drunk or high.

"At Rosie's." He murmurs and I relax, knowing that we won't be interrupted, and relieved that my morals aren't about to be questioned by an adorable five year old. He chuckles softly, as if he is reading my mind and we are sharing the same thoughts.

It feels like some sort of dream, and I have to force myself to stay present. To stay in the moment, instead of hazily floating above, watching like some sort of lustful ghost. It is hazy, slow, like being pulled into consciousness one sense at a time. I am desperate for him, and I fear for my own sanity if I can't have him. I'm delirious, greedy, hungry.

First, there was the way he feels. Hard, solid, warm skin under my hands. So much bare skin. He gathers me in his arms as he shuts the door behind us, pressing me against the cool wooden door. He presses his chest and hips against mine in one slow, smooth movement and I wrap my arms around his neck and wide shoulders, pulling him closer. My shirt is gone within moments, and the skin to skin contact is intoxicating.

Then, there is his smell. The smell of his skin. Like ocean, and sand, and sweat. A musk that is only him. Clean, sweet, and heady. I breathe him in, greedy gasps as he kisses my neck, his hands at my waist, then spanning my back. His head dips down as he kisses my collarbone and then moves on to my breasts. He cups me over my bra, his thumbs rubbing through the delicate fabric, hardening my nipples into tight points, making me come apart. I push my hands through his soft, slightly curling hair. My knees weaken as he pushes down the cups of my bra, his mouth closing over my nipple. At the same time, his hands go to the button of my shorts and he pulls them open, then tugs them down over my hips.