Twelve Red Roses (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

Chapter 30- No Regrets

***Warning*** This chapter contains some sexual content. If you are uncomfortable with that, feel free to skip this part. 

The movie we saw was fairly nice. It was funny, and managed to make us laugh. It was also inappropriate, rated R, and it was quite interesting to watch a movie like that around Tom. He seemed to enjoy it, though, and I often felt his arm go up and rest casually on the back of my chair. And so, I did the only thing that seemed plausible. I put up the arm-rest between us and leaned into him, loving to hear his chest rumble and vibrate whenever he laughed. It's a good feeling to be close to the one you care for. It makes you feel invincible for the time being.

Tom didn't even stop laughing after the movie. He had the giggles whenever he thought about a funny part. I deemed him unsafe with those fits of giggles, so I drove us back instead.

"You liked it, right?" He asks as soon as we get back, shutting the door behind us. It was rather late now.

"Of course I liked it." I yawn then, stretching while setting my purse on the edge of the bed. Then I collapse onto the soft, large mattress, my head almost getting buried in the pile of pillows.

Tom disappears from the room for a second, and a million thoughts come to mind. Did my un-enthusiastic reply upset him? Is he just getting some tea? Maybe getting into the sweets?

But then I hear the music. Playing from a radio, I presume, since it is too loud to be his phone. I look up, and Tom is just returning to the room, a smile on his face. He leans over on the bed, using only his arms to keep himself over me.

"May I have this dance?" He whispers.

I recognize the song. I'm rather fond of it. End of May by Michael Bublé. I kiss him then, overjoyed by the choice of song and his want to dance. What a man I have. I'm such a fool for wanting to let him go. But, by the words of Daisy Buchanan in F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel, that's the best thing a girl can be in this world. A beautiful little fool.

He pulls me to my feet, the kiss still lingering between us. Then we began to slowly dance. We weren't perfect at dancing. I mean, he was. I wasn't. Sometimes I stumbled, or stepped on his toes, and I have to admit, I think I really killed the mood. But he didn't seem to mind. He just smiled at my mistakes, and continued to dance. But how does he expect me to focus on dancing so well when I'm so distracted by his stare?

I let out a small breath as the song ends. "Is that enough dancing for you?"

He smiles, leaning in until his forehead is pressed against mine. "It'll do."

I can't seem to keep my eyes off of him. He seems so happy and content. Is this really all he wants in life at the moment? Loving and being loved by some average girl who will hardly ever dance with him? Surely he wants more than that?

Our arms wrap around each other then, embracing tightly while he just turn slowly. I didn't know the name of this next song. Though I think it's by Harry Connick Jr.

"I think we need to talk," he whispers. His voice sent shivers down my spine.

"You're not breaking up with me, are you?" I joke softly.

He smiles. "No. I just want to know what pace you're comfortable with, that's all."

"What pace I'm comfortable with..." I repeat dumbly, staring just past his shoulder. What pace am I comfortable with?

He nods lightly, and I find myself trying to look directly into his eyes. I can't, though. I think I have some sort of mental condition that prevents me from keeping eye contact.

"I'm okay with going slower. I'm also okay with going faster. Whatever you want, I want, too," he says.

I bite my lower lip slightly. "Well I want whatever you want, Tom."