summary : you start thinking about making Tom's fantasy come true, but someone else always gets in the way.
words : 10.9k
warnings : golf, teasing, fingering, handjob
~ ⛳️ ~
Strike One
"Tomorrow."
Tom's socks squeak on the floor when he stops in his tracks, on his way into the kitchen.
"What's tomorrow?" he asks. His phone chimes twice in his hands like an echo.
"It's Thursday, innit?"
"Yes, and?"
"And you golf on Thursdays if I'm not mistaken."
"Hmm." Tom blinks at you.
"Am I?" you ask, staring at him blankly. You don't want to express any emotions right now, mostly to catch him off guard. Taking Tom by surprise is always an adventure. Especially when he blinks at you, rapidly, the same way he's doing right now. If he's blinking, it only means you're not getting your point across.
"Tom!" you call out, chuckling at his puzzled expression. "You're going golfing in the morning, am I right?"
"Yeah, yeah, you're right," he says, still blinking, but you guess his confusion comes from the fact that he's still typing on his phone. "I usually go on Thursdays, what do-"
Tom's thumbs stop moving over the screen and he looks up at you. "Oh."
"Yeah." You finally grin, invoking a lewd thought about Tom's hands so that your eyes reflect every speck of pleasure you feel when they touch you. "So, what do you say, champ?"
"You..." he trails off, clearing his throat while twirling his phone in his hands. Only once, though. "Wanna go golfing with me tomorrow?"
You shrug. "Why not?"
"I'll have to go really early, though," he says, stepping aside when your mutual roommate, Harrison, a stylish blonde bloke that you've always known as Tom's best friend, walks by. Tom mutters a quick "hey bro" in his direction before he turns back to you. "I have that conference call with my agents before lunch, you know? Do you still wanna go?"
"I don't see why not." You shrug again.
"What happened to that house rule about never waking you up before 9 or you'll bust our balls?" Tom asks, grinning.
"Ah, well," you put in with a scoff. "Things change, Tom."
He 'ah!'s loudly at what you say as you get up from your seat on the couch. You've just finished watching a couple of episodes of your current obsession, having turned it off after Harrison came over to ask what you wanted to order in for dinner.
Speaking of, the annoying ghoul-cry-like bell rings, and Harrison waltzes back across the room armed with his phone and quick steps. He's been complaining about being hungry for about an hour, but honestly? You've been listening to him complain about being hungry practically every hour of every day since you moved in, so you barely pay attention to what he really says about it now.
"Where are you going tomorrow?" he asks on his way to the front door, looking over his shoulder.
Tom's next chuckle gets trapped in his throat before he says, "Oh, mate, she wants to go golfing with me tomorrow, can you imagine that?"
"Golfing?!" Harrison bellows without even looking your and Tom's way, but you can very well hear him laughing.
"Hey!" you huff, rolling your eyes at Tom since your other roommate is nowhere in sight at the moment.
There's a far-away exchange of words in the background and before Harrison comes back, you take a second to swirl towards Tom and steal a quick kiss from his lips, winking at him as sensually as you can. You move away with a slight curve of your spine, tracing a finger across his collarbones, exposed through the open collar of his navy blue polo.
Tom grins excitedly at you, moving his arm to try and grab your hand, but stopping before he can when the door bangs loudly on the other side of the house.
"Harrison!"
"Sorry!" If Tom has yet to get used to not leaving his socks everywhere, Harrison has yet to learn how to close the doors stealthily.
You and Tom exchange yet another sly grin and he leans forward for a new kiss, but you tap his mouth twice and push him away as Harrison's steps approach. While it's true that he already knows about what you and Tom get up to whenever he's not around, you prefer to keep it on the down low in front of Harrison. He's voiced his disgust after spotting a sneaky butt here or a side boob there, and you don't want to disrespect him. Some things are not meant to be seen by third parties. Tom doesn't seem to disagree, and it's much better that your encounters, no matter how short and insignificant, are always furtive. First, because that makes it fun. And second, because it's a good way to avoid any questions about the what and the why and the what if that admitting that you sleep together might raise.
You don't want to go there anytime soon.
"I brought dinner!" Harrison chirps, shaking the food container filled paper bag in his arms. "So, y/n," he says right after, stepping in between you and Tom. "You into golfing now, huh?"
Tom laughs at his best friend's question, which earns him a light punch on his broad shoulder. They're both much stronger than you, of that you have no doubt, but they wouldn't dare retaliate. Or so you hope.
You follow them both into the kitchen, turning to Harrison and asking, "Is there something you'd like to say to me, Mr.?"
"No, no," he laughs, Tom's tuts annoying you in the background. You throw a napkin at him since he's starting to set the table. That was his task for the day, but you believe he had an emergency work-related phone call that impeded him to follow through with it. You could have interrupted your show to do it, but honestly? With these two? You couldn't be arsed.
"It's just-" Harrison continues, pointing towards the glasses cupboard behind your head. "Haha, I could swear you hated golf a few weeks ago. You called me snobbish, if I remember correctly."
"You were wearing those horrible orange shorts, Harry!"
"Don't call me that!" he protests, banging the bottle of wine he's holding on the table. Tom shakes his head while he distributes the plates and the silverware. Harrison starts emptying the bag and says, "Is it going to be your first time golfing, though?"
"Yeah, it'll be my first time, so what?" you tease, both Harrison for his patronizing tone, but also Tom for the smirk he throws at you.
"I'll happily deflower you, darling," he offers, winking.
Harrison starts gagging, but then he folds the bag in four and asks, "Can I come? I'd love to see that. I mean-" He clears his throat. "Unless it's some weirdo sex thing because that I do not wish to see."
You start to laugh since that had honestly been your intention in the first place. Ever since you and Tom discussed this fantasy of his of having sex at the golf course, you simply haven't been able to keep it out of your mind. It plagues your thoughts whether you're busy or not, whether you're alone or not, which is quite troublesome. More than once, you found yourself being the target of wolf whistles from your mates because you were daydreaming, and once your best friend - curse their bloody soul - dared you to confess what you were thinking about or take a whiskey shot. You hate whiskey more than anything in the whole world, but you forced yourself to gulp it down so you wouldn't have to admit that you were thinking about riding Tom's cock in a golf cart.
On the other hand, however, you haven't gone out with your two roommates in so long and you miss that, so you decide to shelf the sexy time for now and use it later. Tom will be pissed, you know that much, but you also have a hunch that it could be even better in the end.
Back to your kitchen, where Tom is looking anything but pleased at Harrison's suggestion to come along with you to the course tomorrow morning, you hear him deadpan, "No. And no."
Yet you disregard him and say, "Sure!"
"What?!"
You shrug at Tom, pretending you have no idea why he's so against your friend joining you for your first time at a sport they're both passionate about.
"Amazing." Harrison clicks his tongue.
"Don't you have a charity event tomorrow?" Tom cuts in immediately, knocking his leg noisily against the chair to his left. You widen your eyes at his clumsiness, knowing very well what was causing it this time. He's usually a massive klutz, but today it has a very particular reason and you are more than glad to watch Tom trying to disguise his disagreement by making up excuses about Harrison.
"I do, but that's not until the afternoon, so we're cool."
"So you're coming?" you ask, leaning forward with both hands on the back of your chair.
"Of course," Harrison replies, starting to open his mouth as though he wants to say more, but Tom interrupts him.
"You shouldn't come, H," he says, turning to you. "He shouldn't come, though, right, y/n? Tell him."
"Why not?" You gesture mindlessly with your hands.
"Why not!" Tom objects. His eyes widen dramatically, and you have to hold in a giggle.
"Yeah, Tom," Harrison chimes in, in an amused tone. "Why the hell not?" The smirk dancing on his features is nearly vile. "You scared I'll get another hole-in-one?"
"Now, look here-" Tom starts, chest inflating. And not just with air, you assume. "I got one before, it was just unlucky that nobody was there to see it, alright?"
"Unlucky."
"Yes, it was!" Tom insists.
You lift one hand and say, "Just because you said it in an interview doesn't make it true, Tom."
Harrison high fives you from across the table while Tom sends him a scornful twitch of his mouth. He then turns to you with an even harsher expression, and you can see his fists tightening on the table.
"Your lie's safe with us, Tom," Harrison says, "it can be our birdie little secret."
"Oh, god," you whine, sitting down and eating a forkful of noodles. Once they start with the golf puns, you never know when they're going to stop. Truth be told, most of them go over your head.
"Alright! Fine!" Tom huffs. "You can come with."
When Tom sits down, clearly defeated, he's got his loser frown on. It's a very particular twist of his eyebrows where one is way lower than the other, his left one angled bitterly towards the top of his nose. There's a deep cleft on it now, which makes him look more childish than angry.
"That's it?" you tease them about how short their 'argument' was.
"You know Tom, he can't stand when someone brings up his real golfing skills," Harrison says, grinning at you, as he settles in his seat. "Face it, mate," he adds, draping his napkin across his lap. His fancy ways amuse you to no end. He's more dashing than Tom, even though the latter is the obvious Hollywood star of the house.
"The only scratch you'll ever get is to soothe the jealousy itch behind your ears."
"That makes no freaking sense," Tom sneers.
Harrison chuckles. "Whatever you say, bogey man."
"Oof, even I know what that means," you tease, showing Tom a toothy grin on purpose. He responds with a nasty face, obviously annoyed at both his roommates right now. "Anyway, so you're definitely coming, Harrison?"
"Absolutely," he replies, ignoring Tom's eye-roll. You take a quick look and see Harrison shaking his head at his friend while Tom takes a bite of his food more harshly than he needs to. Then Harrison adds, "As long as you abolish that busting our balls rule. I mean, it's not even fair-"
"Okay, I agree with this-" Tom puts in.
"You make a lot of bloody noise in the morning!" you object. It's the truth. Both your roommates are men with no set schedule. They don't have a nine to five job, so they'll be up and about, roaming the house at ungodly hours. More often than not, they have made some sort of commotion that ends up waking you up. That's the only reason why you created that rule. And since they're boys, the easiest way was to go for their biggest weakness. Their ego, and their jewels.
"It's not my goddamn fault!" Tom protests loudly.
"Oh, so it's mine then, no?" You squint at him.
"Children-"
"He's louder than me!" Tom points at Harrison, making you laugh.
"Tom!"
"What? You are!"
You keep laughing at them as they go on and on about who is the loudest in the middle of the night. You'd say it's Tom, but you have inside information about things that go bumping in the night in his bedroom, so you sit down and watch both boys argue like little kids. Their friendship and the mutual almost-insults are exciting to watch, anyway.
The laughter and teasing among the three of you continues throughout dinner, only getting louder when Tom's brother, Harry, appears out of nowhere and joins you. It happens sometimes. Tom is very close to his three younger brothers and they all have keys to the flat, free to come in and out whenever they please.
Eventually Harrison calls another of their old school friends, a big dude named Tuwaine with the sweetest smile you've ever seen on any human. He's got one hell of a booming laugh, as well. When they're all together and in a good mood, which is pretty much all the time, the ambiance is loud and festive. Sometimes the madness is too intense, but you join in. You'd never say no to a good moment of pure British fun.
With beers and wine glasses a plenty, you and the boys gather around the kitchen table for a riotous round of poker. Harry wins by a narrow margin, sending Tom into a string of loud expletives with promises of revenge and whatever more. Then after they leave, you relax on your bed, settling on your back, fresh out of the shower, moisturized and smelling nicely.
After you set your laptop on the bedside table, paused in an old comfort episode of BoJack Horseman, there's a knock on the door. It opens to reveal a sleepy-eyed Tom. "Hey, you going to bed?"
"I was thinking about it," you say, sitting up against the headboard. "Gonna watch this and then sleep."
"Alright," he says simply as he lingers under the door frame, shoulder resting against it, with his arms crossing over his chest. You can't help but notice the shift of his muscles and the poke of his collarbones through the skin. Tom seems ready for bed, shirtless and in his favorite dark blue plaid pajama trousers. Barefoot. It makes you wonder where he left his socks on the way here, but you disregard that thought and admire his physique now that it's just the two of you.
"Did you go check up on Harrison too?" you joke, hitting play since Tom isn't saying much.
"I did actually, yeah." He laughs as the title character huffs at something you're not minimally interested in right now. All you can see is the v between Tom's collarbones.
"Tucked him in and everything," he adds.
"You guys are adorable."
"When we're not insulting each other," Tom chuckles, teeth grazing his bottom lip. "So, you, um," he hesitates, uncrossing his arms and shoving his hands into his pockets. "You're really going tomorrow morning?"
His shoulders tuck in almost sheepishly, and you finally get a full view of his chest, analyzing every bump and grove as though it was the first time. Sighing, you drive your eyes upwards to reply to him. "Of course."
"Then what was that about?"
"What do you mean?"
"I thought you'd want to do that... thing we talked about," he says, a shadow of red growing on the tip of his nose. The minutest details about Tom's reactions send your mind into a tizzy every time, leaving you torn between bashfulness and lust.
"I did think about it," you trail off, but he cuts you off.
"Then you go and invite Harrison too? That makes no sense." You can't be sure, but if you had to bet, you'd say his tone is a fading mask of confusion. You had implied something he was excited about only to nip it in the bud by agreeing to have your roommate join in.
"I didn't invite him," you retort, trying to joke around the situation.
His shrug tells a different story. "Same difference."
"I don't know, Tom-"
"What's going on?" he says, walking closer. You can see the shift in his mood as if he's joining in on the joke you started before. "What, you want him to watch or something? That wasn't part of the deal we made the other night."
You laugh, of course, trying to contain it given what time it is. "No, that's not it, I just-"
Turning your head quickly to your laptop and ignoring it right away, you pause and adjust your position. You're still face to face with Tom as he watches you, sitting in the furthest corner of the mattress. You couldn't touch him even if you stretched your toes to the maximum of your ability.
"Well, you're gonna be gone in a couple of weeks. And Harrison's going away this weekend for who knows how long, and I, hm, I dunno," you suck your bottom lip in between your teeth. At a smooth tilt of Tom's head as though he understands what you mean, you add, "I thought it'd be nice to spend some time together."
"Hm."
"The three of us." You shrug. "It's been a while, y'know, one of you is always away for work or anything else."
"We got to hang out tonight," Tom points out, looking down at his hand as he draws elliptic circles on your bedding. "But I suppose it's too late to tell him not to come now."
"Sorry," you give him a short smile, stretching your legs and pointing your toes in his direction before you curl them again and sit cross-legged. You lean in and pat a spot next to your knee. Tom agrees and slides closer to you.
"Besides it's your favorite sport, both of you, isn't it?" you try to appease him.
"I don't know if it's my favorite," he chuckles, playing with your fingers when you tip them towards him. "But yeah, I do love it. You can play, you can chill, you can hang out with your pals. It's fun."
"So you see?" You grin. "Maybe I'll find it fun, too. But please." It's your turn to chuckle now, your eyes grazing Tom's chest as your hands tingle for the smooth touch of his skin, before you settle on looking into his eyes. "Please moderate the golf puns, they're kind of annoying."
Tom laughs out loud and you lean forward to shush him with a finger over his mouth. The walls are thin as fuck around the flat, and there's no point in waking Harrison up right now.
"I'll do my best," Tom says, sealing it with a peck. "No promises though."
"You're a little shit."
"Mhmm, I agree."
Tom kisses you again, this time with his hand on the side of your face. You pull him closer and rub his shoulders, his collarbones, his neck, as your tongue meets his and pulls it deeper into your mouth. He always tastes like spearmint, no matter what time it is in the day. It's always spearmint. Which is odd because you hardly ever see him chewing gum and it's impossible that the taste of his toothpaste lingers for so long, but you don't try to explain it. Instead, you invest in this kiss and wrap your arms successfully around his torso.
Pulling you away with both hands on your cheeks now, Tom says, "You should probably sleep now." He drapes a small peck on your nose. "You're gonna have to wake up really early tomorrow."
"Or we could not sleep at all..." you suggest within a whisper, collecting his mouth into sweet little kisses that start with a hum and end with a smack. Your hand strays from his neck across his shoulder and bicep and forearm, light as a feather. Tom hisses when you reach your destination and cup his crotch through his pants.
"Let's see if you really can be quieter than Harrison," you challenge him. Tom, of course, never one to ditch a dare like this, grins at you and drags you until you're lying on your back. His sturdy shoulders keep you in place against the mattress as his lips cater to yours in a thousand lustful kisses.
*
The next morning, you wake up to a groan. Tom's.
"What is it?"
"Ugh, that's my alarm going off," Tom grumbles, but cuddles up to your side instead of even motioning to get up.
"Is it golf time already," you mumble, struggling to open your eyes, still drunk on the double orgasm from last night.
"Yeah," Tom clears his throat, "yeah it is."
Tom's nose pokes under your chin and you already know what he wants. It's what you want too. If you could spend every morning kissing Tom, you definitely would. At least the mornings he spends at home, since most of the year he's away on work.
As you kiss lazily, lips smacking and hands roaming on faces, neither of you strong enough to engage in anything fiercer, the shrill of the alarm continues to blast from somewhere in the house.
"Where's your phone anyway?" you end up asking, pecking his nose and his cheekbones in a row. You don't remember seeing it with him when he came into your room last night.
"It's in my room," he says.
"Oh."
That explains it, then. Instead of getting up, however, you draw him back in for more kisses. Lazy, but a bit more eager now, your tongue thirsty for the minty taste you always find hidden behind his teeth and on the roof of his mouth.
"I should probably go turn it off," Tom reasons, although he mumbles it around your lips because he doesn't pull back whatsoever. When he does, sighing and nuzzling his nose between your chin and the pillow, he says, "Otherwise, I'll never hear the end of it from Harrison."
You chuckle and whine begging-ly for at least two more kisses.
"One more," you end up saying, making him chuckle, but then you let him go.
The bed feels empty and cold without him in it now, and your mind wanders to last night. You've had a sort of apprehensive coil in your gut for the last few times you've slept together. Things are different now. Tom is different with you. It's not like he wasn't gentle and caring before, because those are words you always associated with his style. He could be rough at times, showing you the dominant side of him, and others he could be lost in anticipation, his hands like claws on your flesh and his mouth a vice around every part of you that it touched. But he was always careful, mindful of you and what you wanted, asking questions and checking in on you to ensure you were having a good time whenever he was around. And you did, you had the best time with him, naked or otherwise.
Last night he was all that, going harder when you asked him to, slowing down whenever he was shaking close to the end, but he was also more. More delicate, more soft touches, more fiery kisses that lasted longer than ten lines of dialogue from the episodes that played on and on in your laptop. Not that you were paying attention, but sometimes you needed to refocus because Tom was simply too much.
He's been creating fissures of longing in your chest, deeper than you'd like to admit. You bury them under jokes and innuendos at any chance you get, but when you reminisce on the things that have happened, the same way you're doing right now, your heart bursts into a frenzy and your fingers crave his touch. He was just here, and yet you want him to be just here yet again.
Unable to explain this pining, you shove it away with the bedding and get up. Your legs are still weak when you try to stand, and you notice a sore spot on your right hip. It triggers a memory of when Tom was underneath you, holding you up tightly and thrusting up with a bead of sweat in his brow that you had to wipe away with a kiss.
The images that follow turn your heart into a clutch, so you shake them off and bolt for the bathroom.
"Y/n?" you hear a while later when you're in your bedroom getting dressed. It's Harrison, who's standing in the doorway with one hand in his pocket and the other on the frame. "Are you ready?"
"Yeah!" You adjust the collar of your shirt around the base of your neck, checking in the mirror if everything matches.
Although unusual for you, you decided to take Tom's advice from last night regarding what you should wear. You don't have any pieces of clothing specific for golfing, but you do have a sort of polo shirt with a blade collar and a bit of a v-neck, which he paired with a comfortable skirt of a similar color. You did consider wearing a pair of shorts underneath, but decided against it just to see what Tom would do about it.
"What do you think?" you ask Harrison, doing a little twirl for him as you chuckle.
"You look... like Tom," he replies with a laugh. You respond in the same way.
"He went through my wardrobe last night and since he's officially my mentor for the day, I figured it'd be wise to follow his advice about this too." You shrug.
"It looks amazing, don't worry. That color suits you," Harrison compliments, smiling a genuine smile.
"Thanks." You nod in appreciation. "And you look-"
"Snobbish?"
You chuckle, shaking your head. "Not today, Harry-" You stop him with a hand gesture when he's about to protest- "Stripes suit you. As do regular colored shorts. Orange?" You both laugh at the memory.
"Not so much, eh?" he tries, making you laugh some more. He tilts his head next. "Thanks."
"So," Tom's voice sounds from behind Harrison. They both squeeze in to fit in the door frame as Tom adds, "Is everyone ready?" When he looks at you, his still opened mouth never really closes. "Y/n."
"Yeah?"
He's wearing the pair of dark grey trousers that you love seeing on him. Snug just enough around the legs, with a long inseam that makes him look so much taller, a quite tight grey-ish navy blue shirt tucked into the waistband. It's interesting that the collar is similar to yours, short around the base of his neck, no collar leaves, and the button that he left undone gives it a v-shape that shows as much bone as yours. The thought of you matching like this lifts the corners of your mouth into a half smile.
"Never thought you'd actually take my advice," he muses, smiling in a sort of devilish way. Playing with his ego is a dangerous game, but you don't indulge him any further. "You look cute, though. We should go, yeah? I'd like to get there at least 45 minutes before tee time, so we can, y'know."
You frown when Tom gestures with his head towards you. "So we can what?"
"Practice," he clarifies. Harrison hums in agreement.
"And you'll need clubs too," he adds.
"Exactly. You can borrow some at the course, they have that," Tom says, pointing towards your bag so you'll get going.
"Can't I use your clubs?" you ask innocently, not wanting to spend any more money than absolutely necessary on this.
"Nooooo," Tom trails off, chuckling on his way out of your room. "No way, miss."
"Why the hell not?"
"Don't mind him," Harrison shrugs, "Golfers can be quite elitist sometimes."
There's a short pause, then Tom shouts, "You're a golfer too, Harrison!"
Chuckling, you and Harrison follow Tom, the three of you chatting animatedly on your way out of the house.
*
When you get to the course, however, your mood changes. This isn't your turf and you're a bit nervous since Tom has been going on and on about at least making you enjoy your morning. It's off to a good start, both Tom and Harrison explaining to you where you'll be going and what you should expect. First they take you to the clubhouse, where they team up to rent you a set of golf clubs and to buy you a "decent pair of golf shoes," since they're both convinced that you're going to come with them again after you have a blast today.
"I know you will," Tom says with a cheeky wink in your direction.
After checking-in, you let them guide you to the practice range for your first lesson. It's an area outside of the actual course where everyone is encouraged to practice their shots. Since you're new to this, both Tom and Harrison have their eyes on you as you stand behind a basket of about fifty yellow golf balls. In front of you, there's a patch of green turf that stretches way past the horizon, the sky tainted of a dusky coral by the first flush of sunlight.
"So I just hit it? Into the nothing?" you ask innocently.
"Yeah, that's it," Tom confirms as he puts on his glove on his left hand. When he looks at you, he uses it to adjust his cap until it rests backwards on his head.
"You can aim at the sun if you want," Harrison jokes. You make a dubious face at him.
"I don't think I can hit that far yet."
"I don't think I can hit that far," Tom says, chuckling. "Let's start with that yellow marker over there." He's pointing at one of the several wood markers that are spread across the green.
As you stand there with the clubhouse behind you, despite being at a fair distance, you can't help but sense the judging from the few strangers that were already out there when you arrived at the course. Although you're probably never going to see them again, your muscles contract at the thought that someone's out there cracking jokes about your ineptness.
It gets a little better when you notice Tom grinning at you excitedly. Giddy from the fact that you're partaking in a hobby that you used to load and chastise him for. In the end, you get lost amongst golf terms and the boys' instructions, trying to absorb every piece of information and ask valuable questions. It's not too bad, they're actually pretty helpful and non-judgmental, only going off at each other whenever each of them has a different technique or position that they think will benefit you more.
"Alright, I give up," you tell them with a huff after the fifth time you miss a ball. You have managed to hit a few so far, though none of them have gone very far or very straight, but not hitting it in the first place is what drives you up the wall the most.
"Either of you want to do this for me? Because it's not going that well," you joke, not really annoyed at yourself. It's fair that you suck at a precision sport you've never tried before, but what you really, really like is watching their expressions go from concentrated to panicked.
"No, no, no," Tom stops you right away, adjusting his cap on his head and walking towards you. Once again, he stands next to you mimicking the position he wants you to try and goes through more and more tips that he thinks will help you figure this out. "Remember what I said about moving the club with your body instead of using just your arms? You keep forgetting it and that's why you're struggling."
"And the leg," Harrison puts in. You and Tom turn to him at the same time, Tom nodding enthusiastically when he looks back at you.
"The K thing," you try to remember what they had called it before, but your mind was too filled with new words. They're all crammed together, most partially blurred by everything they had tried to teach you today.
"Yeah, exactly. That angle helps your elbows stay level, which is what you want here," Tom says with a little laugh, demonstrating. You can sense Harrison shaking his head in front of you, but focus on your instructor instead until he steps aside. "Try again."
Which you do. But you miss it again.
"Dammit," you curse, rolling your eyes. Tom soothes you with a pat on your shoulder as you ask, "Was that any better at least?"
Tom exchanges a quick look with Harrison who shrugs, then says, "Oh, absolutely. You missed it a lot closer than you did the last time."
"You dickhead." You smack him and glance towards Harrison for support, but he's laughing so you lean down and grab the ball from the floor.
"Fore, Harry," you warn him, making Tom laugh and push your shoulder after you throw the ball. Harrison ducks, of course, sending you a silent death threat with his eyes.
Eventually, after you hit five balls in a row, and because Tom says you should really get going, you jump into a golf cart and you feel like you're in a children's book. Off to a great adventure with your best friends, all smiles and a cheery disposition.
Playing is, well, a bore, but the boys do make it fun. It's more delightful to watch them pitch against each other than anything else, Tom with his obsession with technique, Harrison with his constant trick shots, and you in the middle trying to learn anything. You do start to recognize some terms after the tenth hole, which leaves Tom Cheshire-cat-grinning at you, chest inflated with pride.
"You see, Harrison, technique works," he remarks with conceit when you get the ball into the cup at the twelfth shot. So far, your best has been sixteen, so you're happy with this progress, too.
Of course it helps that Tom has been aiding you with every swing, standing much closer than you'd say is necessary, pressing into your back and enveloping you in a sort of hug to show you where your arms should go, angling your shoulders and your legs with careful hands and whatnot. Once he even draws his cap over your head, claiming that dressing the part is half the way to success.
All of this helps your game, but not your focus. You keep feeling his gaze warming up your skin more than the rare sun that filters through the thin clouds. Tom plays it cool when you glance at him, looking elsewhere with his tongue tracing his teeth or throwing another quip at Harrison to disguise it. However, when he thinks you're not paying attention, you can feel him undressing you with his eyes brimming with fantasy. Especially after you take a swing, successfully or not.
It's not like you haven't been watching him like a hawk, too. You've seen him in action in his Instagram videos, even in random paparazzi pictures you've found online though you'd never let Tom know about it, but nothing compares to the sensual stretch of his muscles now that you're seeing him in person.
And he keeps doing this thing where he puts the flat end of his tees in his mouth while he 'checks' the ground for the best way to take his first swing before every hole. It's unnerving. But only because he looks so hot doing it. Pacing around slowly with a concentrated frown and a slight tilt to his head, almost as if he's trying to make you jealous of how he's checking out the green field beneath your feet instead of you.
On occasion, you've found yourself thinking that he doesn't even need to do it. He's been to this course hundreds of times, you figure, and that means he probably knows where and how far to bury the tee into the ground. So he can only be doing it to aggravate you. Which you'll never admit that he can do. At least not while Harrison is around.
Harrison, who, by the way, looks just as handsome when in action. His arms are just as defined, and his outfit compliments him quite well - and his hands, your weakness in every person you've been attracted to, are damn gorgeous, too -, but he simply doesn't cause a reaction in you the same way Tom does.
You can't help it because you know Tom in a completely different sense. You know exactly what those hands can do, how tightly his arms can hold you, and you know the design of his veins as you've mapped them out almost every time you've had sex. And damn, you know exactly what he's hiding under his clothes, the suavity with which his muscles move. How his skin tastes during foreplay, how it smells when covered with a layer of post-sex filth.
Needless to say, by the last hole, you're breaking a sweat from the warm weather and your undies are drenched from your thoughts.
"Do we have to leave right away?" you ask at the end of the round. It went so much better than you expected. And you did have a good time, which was the point of coming here with them. It's so rare that the three of you can spend a relaxed morning together because someone is always in a rush for a commitment. So as you follow them back into the clubhouse for a restroom break and a quick refreshing drink, you smile at the ground from all the feel-good moments you've had in the last few hours.
Honestly, you can't even believe you spent this much time at a golf course of all places. You always thought it was a dull sport, borderline pretentious, not to mention expensive as hell, but it doesn't void the fact that this morning was pretty great. Good fun with your adventure partners. It feels nice when you put it in such terms.
You pretend not to be smiling gleefully the whole time you're in the restroom, but your mind keeps swirling over and over around everything that's happened today. Tom being a pretty good instructor, making sure you followed his every word and correcting you when you misused a term. Harrison helping in a completely different way, telling you to be more loose rather than in control of every single muscle in your body. Both boys being absolute goofballs, yelling whenever you shot a ball out of bounds and even hitting the ball wrong on purpose when it was their turn in the name of imitating your apprentice's style.
"Alright, this is how you're doing it," Tom said several times, messing up his swing so he could redo it and give you tips on what you were doing wrong. Then he'd reposition and say, "And here's what you should have done. Watch the shoulders," or anything else he thought you needed to improve.
Once you couldn't really tell the difference, so you whispered to Harrison, "He just did the same thing twice, didn't he?" Harrison agreed, of course.
Tom threw a despicable look in your direction and pointed his gloved index finger at your face. "Now, listen here, young lady-"
But after Harrison jumped in in your defense, it turned into a short quip battle of useless puns between the both of them. The only way to put an end to it was to start walking ahead to take the next shot.
All in all, you don't think you will ever forget your first time playing golf.
As you step outside to join the boys at the bar, you spot Tom waiting by the restroom door opposite yours. He's scrolling on his phone, his cap now backwards on his head.
"You scared I'd get lost or something?" you joke.
"No," he says in a serious tone, glancing up while shoving the phone into his pocket. Then he looks you up and down, clicking his tongue in between his teeth, and adds, "But there's something I've been wanting to do the whole morning."
"What?"
It's an innocent question, but you're barely capable of asking it before Tom is pushing you into the nook between the two restroom doors, hidden from the main entrance to this part of the building. He cages you against the wall, toe to toe, both hands around your hips. You take a deep breath to speak again when Tom's index finger comes up to your face and presses against your lips.
He shushes you, subtly, with a fervent intensity in his gaze. His actions, a contrast of what he portrays through his eyes, yet none of it is confusing. You've wanted pretty much the same, the wet spot in your knickers that you grumbled about before in the restroom stall was enough proof of this. When his mouth approaches, however, you stop him for a moment.
"You wanna do this here?" you ask raspingly before you collect his lips in a gentle, wet kiss. "It's not technically the course-"
"With the way you look today, no matter where we fuck, it'll be a fantasy come true."
"Don't you talk a big talk," you muse, tilting your mouth to the side in an impish smile.
Tom grunts into it and ruins it with a fierce kiss. He kisses like an ever-bright flame, an open invitation steeped in passion that ignites your counteraction. You pull on his shoulders until his chest meets yours, hearts racing for first place, tongues and teeth battling for the revelation of the primal desire you know lives in you. In both of you. It's so easy to tell when Tom wants to surrender to the strength of the feeling, to the mutual need to engage in something that's just yours even if you share it in a public place such as this. Your surroundings melt away along with the yapping of any passersby, leaving you with nothing but the sweetness of his taste, the focus of his mouth, and the purpose of his hums.
They're delicious, nearly tangible, and your hands grasp his arms as though you can reach for everything he's trying to tell you through this kiss. You want to tell him just the same, want him to know how you've been craving his touch since he left you this morning for his shower.
His hands roam anything he can reach, your sides, arms and hips, even your thigh when you lift it to keep him close. Your toes tense in your shoes when his moans drift away, your head tilting forward when Tom pulls back with a desperate inhale.
"Tom-"
"I know, I know," he soothes in the midst of little kisses that he places on your mouth. With a gentle hand, Tom wipes a fingertip over your eyebrow, gaze tearing into yours.
"We-"
"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, gulping down whatever he was going to do next. Tom steps back and helps you down because apparently this kiss had lifted you a couple of inches from the floor. You have no idea what was supporting you, probably his arms, or maybe the lack of gravity that also makes your brain swim whenever your lips are in close proximity to his.
"We should probably go, yeah," he finally says, pecking your lips one last time and untangling both hands from where he had them around your elbows.
You grab his face, unable to handle the longing in his eyes, and kiss him once, twice, three times in a row until a full smile grows on his mouth. You respond in the same way, adding, "We'll have plenty of time later while Harrison's at his charity thing."
Tom only smiles, grabbing your hand to lead you out of the nook you've been hiding in. His thumb swipes over the back of it for a sweet second, and you both gaze at each other but look away right after.
He lets go as soon as you step out of the building, prompting a cold shiver to dart down your spine.
"That took you long enough..." Harrison chastises you both. You catch a glimpse of mocking in his tone and in his smirk, but decide to dismiss it.
"Sorry, that was my fault," Tom apologizes, which is odd. You expected him to shrug it off or make a joke about the ladies' room or whatever, never a straightforward admission of guilt.
"Don't look so surprised," Tom laughs when he catches you blinking at him, which you disregard for now by making a half-arsed joke about him making you late.
It isn't until much later that your paths cross again. You've been keeping busy for the remainder of the day, leaving Tom to his work commitments and watching Harrison leave the flat with a large bag hanging from his shoulder after a quick lunch.
There's a door that closes somewhere and pulls you out of your thoughts. You rub your eyes for a second, batting them at the clock as you realize how late it is. It's been hours since your first golfing lessons and apparently, you aren't home alone anymore.
"Darling, I'm hoooome," comes Tom's joker voice, confirming your suspicions.
"In the living room," you sing right back.
"Are you naked?"
You laugh before you reply, "No?"
Tom's shape comes into view, turning the corner from the entrance hall into the living room where you are just now plopping your closed laptop on the small coffee table. He takes a look up and down your body, not even trying to be subtle, drinking you in.
"Well, you're about to be," he says out of nowhere, catching you off guard when he strides towards you and corners you against the wall. He touches down the front of the casual t-shirt you put on after lunch, soon finding the waistband of the skirt you never took off since this morning, then the hem at the very end. His fingers dance suggestively on it as he adds, "Been thinking about you in this skirt the whole bloody day." He gulps. "So glad you're still wearing it, baby."
You can't even answer him before he's kissing you with fervor. His mouth claims yours as his property, and you let him do with it as he pleases. Kissing, licking, biting it at his will. You take to the kiss just as quickly, lips parted and wet against his, finding yourself pressed further and further into the wall by his whole front. You can feel the poke of everything, his shoulders keeping you upright, his hip bones knocking into yours, and the recognizable shape of his cock, already hard and twitching in his trousers.
One of his hands grips your waist and you move yours to his neck, reaching for just a little more of his warmth. It's already spreading into every nerve you own, setting them ablaze in a silent yelp for more. You hold on to his collar when his knee slides in between yours, keeping you pressed back and open wide so his tiny hips can roll into yours much closer.
Tom's mouth is hot and wet, hot and giving as you take everything you can from the kiss. Everything he offers you swallow down and savor the taste you're already so familiar with. It's him, it's definitely him and his trademark spearmint magic, keeping you literally on your toes once again from how good he's kissing you right now.
With a hand sneaking down his front, counting the buttons all wrong until you find the hem of his shirt, you sprawl your fingertips against the warm skin of his belly. Tom doesn't get so sneaky. He goes straight up between your legs, under your skirt, pressing his palm flat against your core that's about as wet as the Thames from the anticipation.
Your bodies are impossibly close, the sweat on your arms mixing with his right after it breaks through your pores. The heel of his hand grazes your clit and your breath hitches, coming out in little whimpers, and Tom takes it as his cue to bite away at your lips as though he's hungry for every sound that you make.
"Tom-" you manage through the soft pleasure, angling your knees so you can grind down on his hand as he's caressing you right where you've been craving him all day. It wasn't just him thinking about this very moment. It's been in your mind the whole time you've been alone, where sometimes you even found yourself looking down your own body wondering if you should soothe it yourself or wait for whenever Tom was coming home.
Right now, you're thankful that you've waited because he's all hard kisses and earnest touches. You can feel them straight down to your feet, goosebumps rising as his fingers continue to tease between your thighs.
"What do you want?" he asks, framing the edge of your underwear, back and forth, almost as if he's asking for permission.
"Want your fingers," you bite down the urge to moan and say the appropriate words, knowing it will take him less time this way. If you directly ask Tom for something, he's always quick to respond.
Today it's no different as he slips your panties to the side. For a second, the air feels cold on your lower lips and you whine at the sensation, wanting so much more than what he's giving you. The damn tease.
"Where?" he asks, pecking a path of kisses from your lips to your ear lobe. "What do you want my fingers for? You've got ten of them, too."
"Please, Tom," you whimper, squeezing your legs together to try and get his hand closer to your pussy. He doesn't cave, of course he doesn't. "Please touch me or I might just die."
"How dramatic, darling," he scoffs, smiling like he's getting off on your pain. "Do you want me to touch your pussy?"
"Yes-" you groan when he trickles a couple of fingertips across your mound.
"Want me to play with your pussy, baby?"
"Yes, please, been thinking about nothing else since this morning."
"Oh, have you?"
He huffs a breath over your ear, glancing into your eyes for a moment before he goes back to your ear. Breathing over it. Licking across the lobe. Biting on it and pulling it into his mouth.
"You naught girl," he adds, "No wonder you were making so many mistakes. Kept thinking about my fingers when you should've been playing golf, didn't you? Wanted them around your legs, maybe? Or maybe you wanted them down here, grazing your little clit, did you now?"
You can feel his wide smirk on the side of your face even though you can't really see it. Mostly because the curl of his fingers against your skin is so soft, so barely there that you can't keep your eyes open even for a fraction of a second.
"Do you still want them now?"
There's a word that leaves your mouth, but you can't really grasp its meaning. Not when Tom flicks a hand across your slit, right between your folds, finding your sensitive pearl and toying with it at his will.
"Please, Tom," is all you can say.
"Lucky for you," he whispers against your mouth, licking your lips from the bottom up. "Lucky for you, I've been thinking about the same thing. Rubbing your clit right under your skirt. Grasping your thigh in my hand. Getting you all worked up and wet from nothing but a couple of fingers. Is that what you want, baby girl?"
First, you nod, but Tom tilts his head in a chastising manner. It's words that he wants, and you inhale to be able to give them to him, but nothing comes out. Only a whimper. Right when Tom drags a finger down your slit and straight into your hole.
You shift your weight from one foot to the other only to realize that you can't because Tom's grasping your thigh, wrapping it around him so the curve of his cock is pressed against the underside of it while he pumps his finger in and out of you.
"Tom, fuck," you moan in sync with his thrusts, scarce but deep enough that he brushes over your spot on every motion upward. Your hands fly to his hair and you hold each other as you kiss some more, fierce and consuming as Tom surges forward with a devouring hunger. The noise that he makes in the back of his throat has you liquefying against his grasp, all whines and animalistic shivers.
"This is what you wanted, innit?" Tom asks breathlessly. "My fingers in your cunt. Rubbing your spot. Isn't it? Are you happy now?" he hums into a short kiss, "Or do you want another one?"
"More," you pant, chest as tight as your gut.
"That's my good girl, always wanting more, fuck, that's so bloody hot," Tom grunts.
He uses a thumb to push your knickers further to the side. His other hand lets go of your leg only to slap against it so he can hold it better and push it even further up. You're all askew, barely able to comprehend the angles your body is pulling. All you know is that your pussy is exposed and your head swims with the slap of his palm against your clit.
A gasp forms in your throat when the second finger that Tom promised you slides up your hole. The two of them join forces to brush against your spot and make you see shapeless stars. At the same time, you try to reach for Tom's mouth, wanting all of him to be touching you.
Tom concedes with a moan, bumping his mouth onto yours so hard that your back thumps against the wall. Your shoulder blades screech in pain for a moment, but you soon forget it when you get lost in his kiss and in the shape of his fingers right where you're clenching around them.
Your arms are loose around his neck by now as you take everything that Tom gives you. You buck up onto his hand, fingers slithering under his hair and toes curling tight in your socks, as your whole body shudders with excitement when the coil starts to form in your belly.
"Y/n," Tom whispers into your jaw, dragging his lips over your chin and then again over your mouth. He bites it, hard, making it hurt and yet it hurts so good. He licks it right after, and you use every small sense of pain as more of a turn on.
"Close," you whimper, bucking your hips forward when Tom presses deliberately on your sweet spot.
"I wanna hear it," Tom growls into your mouth, "wanna hear you come, baby," dragging you into an even hungrier kiss. He pulls your thigh even tighter around him. Dives his fingers even further into you. Faster, too. "Come for me, all over my fingers, baby girl."
It's the rut of his knuckles on your inner walls that does it for you. You hear his pet names and his tone of lust and nothing but, and all of the sensations he's making you feel pull every sound you could make right out of your chest.
Tom thrusts and spreads his fingers in you, opening you up so good, making you see white. The twirl of pleasure in your gut intensifies and fans out, warming you up from your toes straight up to your head. Everything in you curls forward, wanting more of Tom, whatever you can reach, and it's with a roll of his tongue on the roof of your mouth, a bite of his teeth on your lip and a curl of his fingers to the left that your brain shuts off completely.
"Fuck," you whine and shout in the same breath, legs shaking around Tom as your chest reverberates with your orgasm. Your hands are tight on his shoulders, grasping his flesh almost until his nerves collapse. It makes him moan into your mouth, and even his hips snap against yours.
Every bit of your mind is lost in space, soaring in the ether as you shake and come down from your high. Tom still has his fingers inside you, slowing down but not pulling them out. They rest on the soft muscle just by your entrance, as his thumb crawls over your folds and up to your clit. You hiss when he presses too far, and that's when Tom eases up. He lets your leg fall back down and when your feet are both on the floor, you find in yourself the strength to open your eyes.
"That was, it was," you try to pant, but you're still too breathless.
Tom shushes you as if he knows, his clean hand cradling your face as he kisses you sweetly. His hunger isn't gone, you can tell by the twinkle in his eye, but he's soothing now.
"It's okay, don't try to speak," he mumbles, tipping your head up with his nose before he pulls his hand from your hole and brings it to his mouth. He makes you watch while he cleans his fingers, tongue playing with them as he pleases.
"You tease," you mutter, smiling softly. Your eyes are still droopy, but you fight against the will to keep them shut. You want to watch him now, want to read the desire in his gaze while you mull over the best way to make it go away in a manner as amazing as what you feel right now.
Your whole body is pliant and sated, skin clammy with sweat and stirring with the memory of Tom's touch. He's so intense with you that you can always feel him for hours after he's gone.
That's the last thing you want right now, so as soon as you can breathe painlessly again, you curl a hand around his neck and the other around the bulge on his crotch.
"Your turn," you grin into his mouth. Tom grins right back and presses his hard-on against your palm.
He doesn't stop you when you undo his trousers and pull his cock right out of his briefs, adjusting his clothes so that it won't hurt him throughout the sweet beads of pleasure you want him to endure. Tom steadies himself with one hand on the wall behind your head, the other back to your shoulder as though he still wants to guide you and instruct you on this. You don't need his tips anymore, but you let him be.
"First, a kiss," you demand, reaching for his mouth passionately. While he's distracted with his tongue wrestling under yours, you get a hold of his cock and start to pump.
"Fuck, y/n," Tom hisses and pulls away, but you're quick to react. You lick your hand until it's wet enough, twirl it around his head to collect the bead of pre-cum that's hanging from it, and then you go right back.
"Holy shit," he curses over and over again, shoving his hips forward as though your movements aren't enough.
You shush him into a still position, trapping his body with a leg around his arse. Then you kiss again, dipping your fingers into the soft hairs on the back of his neck as you start to pump steadily. This time, he doesn't complain. He only moans, so you speed up and jack him off, thumb going in every direction you know he likes. Running under the gland, through the slit, and across the vein on the underside of his shaft.
Tom keeps trying to thrust into your hand, but you hold him steadier, your leg clasped around him hard to keep him in place. This is your moment to shine, and you want nothing more than to watch him cave under your doing.
It doesn't take long before he starts to moan louder, frantic and desperate, his breaths becoming short pants as he nears his high. Tom tries to mumble something, but you shut him up with a vicious kiss. He whines and almost screams into your mouth, cock twitching in your grasp as you pump up and down at a steady pace.
"I wanna see you, Tom," you say in a murmur, using your best bedroom tone.
He whines again and shakes his head, trying to speak but only crying out wordlessly into the side of your face as you twist your fist on the way up. Squeezing his tip, you shush him the way he's done to you before.
"Gonna-" you hear him, kissing him again to drown whatever he wants to say. You don't care what happened the first time he came like this. All you want is to pay him back for how he drove you up to bliss and back with nothing but two fingers.
You pull him into a kiss, longing for the strangled moans he always emits when he's close. They rise far sooner than you expect, but you let them fill the air. A hand holding him tight and helping him get his sweet release. He draws back from the kiss after a while and stutters, "Gonna- fuck, baby girl-"
And then he comes all over you in a masked shout, convulsing through the pleasure with whimpers and overcharged shudders.
There's no time to appreciate all of it, however, because you're under attack by your own stubbornness. You should've let him pull away and avoided getting cum on your face.
"Ow, Tom, what the fuck, you didn't have to hit me in the fucking eye!"
Tom sort of laughs, but it comes out all strangled and within a moan as his shoulders buck forward. His muscles ripple from the force of his orgasm, stirring under the skin as he collapses against you. You try to wipe your eye, but he stops you with a hand.
"Wait-" he says, sighing still.
Of course you didn't want to break his blissful moment, but it's a matter of sight or blindness.
Tom helps you by grabbing the hem of his shirt and wiping your eye with it, carefully, first on your eyelid, then along your eyelashes. His touch is careful and his mouth breathes over yours, hot and wet, burning you inside and out from the closeness.
"There, all gone," Tom clears his throat, bringing his hand back down. "Are you okay?"
"No! It stings!"
Tom laughs for real now, kissing you briefly on the mouth. His eyes are open, studying your face, but when they shift to the left, he laughs even harder.
"What now?" you ask, rubbing your poor eye. It's tearing up and all sensitive, so you'll have to be careful and wash it as soon as you can, but first you have to figure out what Tom finds so damn funny. "Don't tell me there's cum on the wall again."
Tom cackles and points to the side of your head.
"You're fucking gross," you deadpan.
"I can't help it!"
"What the fuck do you do when you jerk off?" You let Tom grab your wrist and put it down so you won't hurt yourself. "What? Do you wipe cum off your wall every goddamn time?"
"Sometimes," he says, still laughing, "usually I put a hand over the head to catch it, that's all."
"Then why the fuck didn't you do that now?" you yelp.
"You said you wanted to see it!"
Pointing at your eye, you emphasize, "Well you almost blinded me..."
"It's not my fault!"
"You're a cumshot menace, Tom!" you joke, pushing his shoulders playfully.
Tom grabs you around the waist and laughs into your cheek. "I'm sorry," he says, dropping small kisses all over your face on the way up to your eye.
"It's okay," you say, giggling too, and peck his nose to accept his apology. "At least it means it was good, right?"
"It was really, really good." Tom grins, kissing you again. "Now let's go wash that, yeah?"
"Why the fuck is your dick out again, Tom?"
You turn your head towards the booming voice.
"Fucking hell, Harrison!" Tom shouts, turning to face away from his friend and tuck himself into his trousers. You look down at yourself instinctively, something that didn't cross your mind before given what happened, and straighten down the front of your skirt.
You throw your head back against the wall afterwards, giggling and caressing Tom's shoulder as you feel the muscles move while he gathers himself.
Then you hear, "And what is that on the bloody wall?!"
It takes you only a second to know what he means, so you turn to Harrison with a laugh and say, "Bad day not to bang the door, eh?"
~ ⛳️ ~