Because You're Mine (A Tom Hiddleston Fanfic) #Wattys2016 #pfcc2k16

Chapter Forty: The One Where It All Really Begins.

By the time our stomachs really started to grunt and complaint about the lack of sustenance, we were a few blocks away from destination number two, and right when we were about to cross Regent's Street, we got intercepted by a group of school girls that were coming out of a building.

In the swirl of it all, with the girls asking for a picture, or an autograph, or even having a casual conversation with an adorably comfortable Tom, I somehow got left behind. Not that I really had a problem with that.

Those girls couldn't give a rat's ass about me, and I really could not blame them. I know I wouldn't care about me either.

But Tom noticed I was gone the second he was able to look up from the paper he was signing, and I could see his eyes shifting through the people and lighting up when they finally landed on me.

I smiled and I nodded, letting him know that I was fine, but he just reached out for me and pulled me inside the circle that had formed around him.

He didn't say a word; he kept on being famous Tom, and I just kept on observing him in that new scenario.

It was amazing to watch how dedicated he was and how attentive he got to every girl who was asking him a question or telling him a story.

"Is that girl his girlfriend?" I overheard someone ask. I immediately drove my gaze to the ground, suddenly feeling intimidated, and awkwardly interested in my shoes.

"I think so... she's pretty, though. And she seems cool" Another voice followed.

I just looked back up to where the conversation was coming from, and I met two pairs of very curious eyes staring at me.

The two girls visibly blushed, I guess because of the fact that they knew they had been heard, but I quickly smiled at them, as reassuring as possible.

They swiftly returned the gesture and with that, they were back to the real object of their attention.

"That was our mission, after all" Tom says before asking me to find us a seat while he would go to the counter and order us something to eat and some coffee.

Is not that our recent encounter with a few of his fans bothered me in anyway –quite the opposite, actually–, but I try to find the farthest table from the windows and when I spot it, I go straight to it.

When I'm already seated, I just stare at him; leaning nonchalantly against the bar, scratching his ginger stubble while thinking over what he wants to eat, and I just get hypnotized by the movement of his hands.

And I think about the first time we met, and how I couldn't stop imagining how it would feel like to have those hands all over me.

Luckily, it didn't take me long to find that out, and even less for me to become addicted to such feeling.

"You look like you're about to raise some hell," he calls me out when he comes to take a seat in front of me. Apparently, I was too deep inside my daydreaming and I never even saw him approaching, "... and I would give everything up to be inside your head right now"

"I will tell you what's on my mind later, when I get you alone" I say with the naughtiest tone I can manage. I reach for the cup of coffee he just brought for me and, without lifting my gaze from it, as my index finger runs along the rim, I add: "Whatever hell I intend to raise, I'm not planning on doing it with an audience"

I only look up when I drive my hot drink to my lips, blowing at it intentionally. He gasps, pretending to be outraged by my unexpected candor, but also quite agitated because he has a pretty good idea as to what the word hell actually entails.