The Many Faces of Tom (Tom Hiddleston Imagines/One Shots)

12: Recipe for an (almost) Disaster

It would be the first Saturday in months you and Tom would be spending the night together. He was returning to London after filming in Iceland, Thor the Dark World now completely underway. Now a rising a known actor, he phone never seemed to remain silent. Despite being incredibly proud of what he had achieved - what he would achieve - there was a growing distance standing between you, preventing you from being able to spend precious time with one another.
Tonight, however, was different. You wanted to make it special.

***

Cookbooks are splayed over the kitchen counter. Ingredients bubbled in steaming pans, the oven fanning your flushed face. Flour dusted your hands and apron, hair unravelling from its pins. The aroma of something burning came from inside the oven. That was when you remembered the potatoes.
"Shit!"
Gloved hands whisked the dish from out of the oven, only it was too late as the thinly sliced potatoes burned to a crisp. You slammed the dish down in frustration.

Why had you even decided to cook?

You had never really been any good at it, only following what Jamie Oliver told you. Yet somehow you had managed to almost set the kitchen on fire and drop a toss up of Tom's favourite pudding - a cheesecake and apple pie - onto the floor. You groaned, wiping your forehead and smearing it with flour.

Tom placed the key to the lock, a smile already upon his features as he opened the door to the apartment. As Tom placed down his suitcase, he became aware of the smell of something burning.
"Darling?"
Tom's anxious voice called out as he wheeled the suitcase further inside. He heard movement coming from the kitchen, the sound of clattering pans and frustrated curses. Tom was instantly smiling again. He stopped before the entrance to the kitchen, peering with astonishment as he watched you flustering around.

"Need a hand darling?"

Tom chuckled as you whirled round, caught unaware of his appearance until then. Some of the sauce which you had been making slopped onto your wrist.
"Ouch! Shit!" You exclaimed loudly before attempting a smile. "Welcome back Tom."

Tom's blue eyes gazed passively over the kitchen.
"Were you trying to cook dinner?" Tom asks gently.
You drop the pan with the bubbling sauce into the sink, quickly turning on the tap and running your wrist over with cold water.
"Yes, a disaster right?" you said.
Tom tries to reason with you but you abruptly cut him off.
"No Tom, this was a disaster."
You slump against the countertop, cradling your wrist inside your hand.
"I wanted to create something special so I thought I could cook a meal for us in celebrating your return. However, the only thing I've achieved is a burnt wrist and nearly burning down the kitchen," you spoke miserably.

You look at Tom; he walks towards you, taking your wrist and kissing it gently.
"You didn't have to go to such lengths for me love," he whispers. "I'm not worth the trouble."
You are about to protest when he presses an extended finger against your lips.
"Never mind," he laughs. "I appreciated the thought all the same. How about instead of cooking, we call for pizza and lounge on the settee?"
You nod vigorously. "Sounds perfect."

***

The kitchen nightmare forgotten, the duration of the night is spent lying inside Tom's arms, familiarising in his protective and comforting hold, sharing pizza crusts and drinking the remaining dregs of wine from the bottom of glasses. He shares embarrassing moments whilst filming on set for Thor: The Dark World; you go on to tell him you had been promoted as becoming an assistant in the magazine company you worked for.

"Darling, that's wonderful news!" Tom exclaims happily. "I'm so happy for you."
"And I'm happy for you Tom; look how far you've come since Thor. The world is falling hopelessly at your feet."
"So I've heard," he grins. He runs his hands through his hair; no longer as curly or blonde as it once was. His face has graced with wisdom and maturity and yet is still breathtakingly beautiful as you cup it inside your hands and graze your lips over the light brown stubble of his jaw. Tom closes his eyes, murmuring in appreciation.
"I'm so glad I have you," you whisper. "You are my rock."

His lips are claimed; he draws you closer towards him as you kiss, the traces of leather, mint and shampoo washed over his skin. A lingering taste of wine is present against his lips, which you deviously lick off with your tongue. Tom groans and opens his eyes, laughing his adorable and rather infectious 'ehehe'.
"Oh, you're ruthless, you're brutal," he smirks.
"I'm a survivor baby," you purr, giving him a cheeky wink.
"It's all the bloody talking."

You both fall against the settee, one of the empty wine glasses tipping to the floor. He kisses you, craving the absence in taste and texture of your lips. His hand passes behind your neck, parting your hair in proceeding to trail sweet breathless kisses along it. This causes you to sigh. You know what his touch can do to you.
"Tom," you whisper. "I love you."
Tom gazes up at you, the intensity of his blue eyes latching onto your soul.
"As I love you," he says.
Tom's body suddenly quivers, covering his mouth over his hand as he yawns. His eyes prick with jet lag and fatigue.

"You must be exhausted darling," you whisper.
Tom nods sleepily, his eyes glazing over as you reach down and take his hand.
"Come on, let's get you to bed."

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MischiefMaker26 x