Fantasy and Putts - t.h. series [18+]

Meta-Fore of Love - part five *

words » 15.3k

warnings » things get fancy and hot (smut: explicit talk, fingering, oral (both receiving), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cum play), then not so much

~ ⛳️ ~

The door locks behind you with a click, and you sigh into the empty flat. You're home, by yourself, and the unavoidable happens. The thoughts start pouring in. Most of them against your will.

Since your mind isn't preoccupied with work or commuting troubles anymore, you sink into the couch and your head swirls around the same thing for who knows how long.

For a second, that conversation with David felt somewhat like a relief. It allowed your shoulders to relax, your breathing suddenly easier since there was no longer a block to keep up. Your mind was free to wander as it pleases, now that you could stop convincing yourself that you weren't growing feelings for Tom. It was inevitable after so many months in close quarters, night upon night of becoming closer and closer, studying each other, inside and out. Quite literally, even.

It's useless to try to pretend that you can focus on anything else right now. Hands shaking lightly, heart pumping blood and doubt in every direction, stomach curled around the edge of dread of what you finally admitted to yourself, every piece of information hijacks your common sense and almost makes you sick to the stomach.

At one point, you pass by Tom's room on your way to and from the bathroom, and for some reason your brain claims it would be easier to process it all if surrounded by his presence. However, after sitting in his armchair and closing your eyes for a bit, you have to open them after a moment because his scent is spread everywhere around the room, and you have to get out of here a-fucking-sap.

In the end, you realize that you need to keep busy or you'll drive yourself mad from so many possibilities and so much aching. First, you grab your phone to update your socials and keep up with any new comments, filter through your followers to block out any uncomfortable accounts — namely the ones that remind you of him.

More and more of those have been finding you since someone somewhere made a stupid connection that ended up spreading a rumor about how you were his roommate. Potentially. Never officially confirmed, it doesn't really matter to the general public, and according to Tom and his team, the less they know, the better. You agree. The socials mongers don't.

No matter where you look, it's hard to avoid the several variations of the same name, so you bury your phone between two layers of clothes in your dresser and shut the drawer with a slight bang.

Work. That's what you need to concentrate on. Research on cocktails and toast techniques, bettering any skills you can apply every morning at the Den, then research on concepts and visuals you may want to experiment with for your channel. Anything to keep the forbidden realization from earlier out of reach.

The hours go by at last, with a small nap in between because otherwise your brain would explode trying to dodge a single topic, and you're home alone the whole time. Except you might not be for a lot longer given that the daylight is fading outside, so you hop into the shower and relax under the water stream. To force your head to stay empty, you fetched your phone from your dresser and clicked on an old playlist you downloaded fuck knows how long ago. Turning off the wi-fi for good measure, too. It's going to be just you and your favorite artist of all time and the soothing warmth of your shower routine.

"Where are those fucking things?" you mumble to yourself, already in your bedroom. It's been a while since you started canvassing your closet for a decent pair of clean joggers, but still no luck. You want to put them on so you'll be comfortable while you apply your make-up for tonight.

Tuwaine invited you a few days ago for a friendly celebration bash, though he did not reveal what it would be in celebration of. Of course you couldn't say no to him, even without knowing much about what he's putting together. All you know is that you're supposed to dress up nicely and bring a bottle of wine. Though Harrison is the one in charge of that part of the deal because fancy wines are not your biggest strength.

"He-eeey nakey lady."

You jolt too damn much at the sudden invasion of that voice. "Don't do that!"

Tom laughs impishly at your shock reaction. "Now you know how I feel," he says in mischief, with a click of his tongue the way you often do to him. "What's going on? You're in here mumbling to yourself."

"Can't find any joggers, and I need them so I won't moon anyone while I put on my make-up," you explain, back to scavenging your room, now deep into the bottom drawer of your dresser.

"Those joggers you're not wearing look fine to me."

"Don't start," you chuckle, contracting into yourself so your butt isn't so pushed back. "We're gonna be late for T's dinner if you do."

"So what," Tom scoffs. "I'm a celebrity, I'm always fashionably late."

"Once more using the movie star card in your favor, I see," you chide, hearing the shuffling of his socks on the floor as he steps closer.

When his hand creeps slowly on the nape of your neck, you straighten up on your feet before he gets any ideas.

"But I'm not a celebrity, so being late is out of the question. No matter how fashionable it might be."

"Where's the fun in that?" Tom taunts you with a scoff.

Right at the same time, the door bangs in the background, so you say, "And we just saved Harrison a few more hours of therapy.Now go put on something nice for your friend, hm?"

Tom puffs out a breath, but he accepts the peck you drop on his cheek and leaves you to your business.

∗

"So," Tom says, substituting the empty cup in your hand with a half full glass of red wine. "How have you been enjoying this lovely evening, darling?"

You frown hard at the nickname which, although not unusual for Tom, gains a completely different undertone today.

"Don't frown, it's just a nickname." He laughs. You only shrug, tasting the drink he just brought you. "You wanna head home?"

It's not late, but it seems like the night has been over for a little while. The only reason you've stuck around is because Tuwaine has been preoccupied with several of the other guests and you don't want to leave without saying a word to him.

"Been trying to catch T to at least thank him for the invite, but the man has been seriously busy."

Tonight's event was a celebration of Tuwaine being cast in a new theater show. You had been aware that he was going to different auditions and branching out on his work, but he had kept this news a secret from the majority of the night's guests. At least you could tell that much from the several expressions of surprise that filled the room when he made an official announcement.

"That's the life of a newfound star, I'm afraid."

"Yeah, and you would know alllll about that, wouldn't you?" you tease Tom for his conceited remark.

"I would." Tom grins in mischief. Then he looks to the side and nudges your elbow with his palm. "Here's your man of the night."

After congratulating your friend-by-proxy-turned-close-friend for his new job and for the great celebration he hosted, you step back and sip your wine while the two of them hug each other.

"Congratulations, man," Tuwaine says when they stop patting each other's backs and laughing at whatever they have going on over there.

"No," Tom keeps a hand on his friend's shoulder, squeezing it so hard his knuckles seem stressed. "Congratulations to you only."

Tuwaine immediately apologizes. "Oh, my bad. Harrison said—"

"Yeah, Harrison's full of shit."

"What's going on?" you chuckle nervously. You do notice Harrison catching your eye when you look for him in the room, finding him a few tables down chatting with Sam and someone else they're all friends with but who you only met tonight.

"I'll tell you later." Tom smiles at you, his hand warm on your back now. "Anyway, Big T, we were thinking about heading out. Unless you have something else up your sleeve? 'Cause if you do, I'm going to need a better excuse to take this lady home with me right now."

"Excuse me?!" You scoff at his innuendo that he's only leaving because of you. "I'm not— all that, all right? Celebrity," you say, stubbing your finger on his chest, then pointing at you. "Not arm candy."

Tuwaine laughs his booming laugh, smacking Tom's shoulder condescendingly. "You crack the fuck out of me every time. Good luck, mate. You two go, and uh... don't make too much of a mess."

"Hey now..." you goad him by sticking your elbow into his forearm.

"You know I love you, girl, but you been knew..." he teases some more as he turns to leave.

"Y'know, it's pretty weird all your friends know about our sex life, but it's even worse that you fucking brag about it to them," you say to Tom, smacking his arm a couple of times to get his attention.

He's scouring the room for some reason, but then he focuses on you and pokes your nose with his finger in response. "I wouldn't brag if it wasn't worth it."

"Scarring your friends is worth it?"

"All the damn time," he laughs, adding, "C'mon, let's say goodbye to them. There's Harrison." He points towards the other end of the room.

Then his hand lands on the small of your back as you lead him there. The touch is warm and familiar, but it raises too many thoughts you don't want to mull over right now. You would be more than happy to never have to mull them over again.

"Quick detour to the restroom first. I'll meet you there."

"Sure," Tom says.

And when his hand falls from your back, you may as well be naked from the cold shiver that runs through you.

∗

"Oh. What were you saying to Harrison that he was foaming at the mouth when I got back from the restroom?" you enquire, already on the way back home. Tom is driving, and you're in the passenger seat, one hand fiddling with the hem of your dress, the other splayed comfortably on Tom's muscly thigh.

"I may have told him to text me before he heads home," Tom proceeds to explain. His words immediately earn him a light punch to the shoulder.

"You have to stop doing that!" you remind him, sliding your hand back to his thigh, where you squeeze him a little over the knee. No matter how many times you keep telling him to, one, not assume you're going to have sex, and two, to not forbid his friend from coming home whenever he wants, Tom always finds a sneaky way to do just so behind your freaking back.

"We've talked about this, Tom. You can't go around telling him he's not allowed in his own flat!"

"I know, I know, you've told me that already," Tom says with a clear smirk as he makes the final turn into your street. "But there's no way I'm not gonna fuck you in that dress. You said it yourself, I'm saving him a few more hours of therapy."

"By hinting that you want to get laid before he comes round, how's that gonna work?" You click your tongue against your teeth. "Fucker."

"My point exactly. Thank you."

"What if I don't want you to fuck me in this dress?"

Perhaps there's more to this dress that meets the eye. After all, the moment Tuwaine said it was a semi-formal event, Tom made sure to mention that he wanted to take you shopping. Then he had the ridiculous idea of renting you a dress from a fashion designer he discovered through his publicity team. It took some convincing, not once having depended on anyone else to pick an outfit for anything, but you figured it wouldn't be that bad to indulge him in this. Just this once.

You did hesitate a lot while the sales assistant showed you dress after dress, several combinations of cuts and fabrics and accessories. Tom stood beside you with wide eyes, watching you intently, commenting on the ones he thought would be appropriate. In the end, you chose a beautiful piece that did look great on you, and in return you helped him choose a nice, intricate pattern for his suit.

"If you don't want to, we can do something else, and I'll text Harrison to come home," Tom says with a shrug. "It's that simple."

You sigh. "You're unbelievable."

"I know." Tom grins, parking the car at last.

"You're lucky you look great in that suit."

"No, you're lucky I look great in this suit," he retorts half-assedly. You humor him with a smile and a pinch on his thigh.

The point of your whole conversation is that Tom insists on pretty much scarring his best friend to life. Sure, Harrison is used to things being a certain way by now, especially since Tom has been home uninterruptedly, but that does not mean one must subject him to any type of shenanigans. You're gonna need to find a way to compensate him somehow.

But not right now.

Right now, you have to find a way to ensure Tom doesn't notice that your knickers are all wet. You went through a bit of a predicament at the party, feeling the arousal just from the sight of him. It was often that you couldn't control yourself, and today it's been almost a week since the last time you've slept together, and to top it all off he does look gorgeous in his suit. Namely his shirt — perfect fit, perfect shade of ivory, the sparkling cufflinks, the top buttons undone to show off his collarbones, the curve of his neck embellished by a rebel silver chain — with no disregard for his trousers. The ones you picked for him. The ones you love on him because they enhance all the right assets.

On top of all that, Tom also spent half the night serving you drinks, some wine, some other colored options, some with and some without alcohol, but every time he'd come round, he would place his hand on the small of your back for just a few seconds. That is to say, just the right amount of seconds to keep you ardent with lust and second guessing his intentions at every moment. Your mind kept wondering if he would ever pull you aside for anything, but alas he never did. Most likely out of respect for his best friend. Well, to hell with him. The teasing only made things worse.

So now here you are, watching Tom's peachy bum in his trousers while he unlocks the door, then suddenly being twirled on your feet and shoved around until your back pushes the front door closed.

"Let's see the damage, hm?"

You have no idea what Tom means, but his hand snaking up your dress skirt answers it for you.

"Wait, I've to say," he stops, curling his fingers around the top of the slit. "You look like a fucking princess in this dress."

"More like— hold on." You stop and raise a finger between the two of you so he won't move. "Do you mean as an adjective, like a fucking princess, or do you mean it like a princess for fucking?"

Tom rolls his eyes and grabs your finger to get it out of his face. "Obviously option number two. A princess I'm going to fuck."

You scoff and push his shoulder to shove him out of your way.

"C'meeeere," he calls for you, taking your hand into his and swirling you on your feet until you're back between the door and his body. "Look like a fucking sexy princess in this dress."

"Hmmm, better," you pretend to think twice about what he says, but the only reason why you're even questioning it is because your knees are shaking too much to hold your weight without any kind of distraction. Although the hand he still has wrapped around yours helps, too.

"Feels like I haven't said that enough," he adds. That is one hundred percent not true. Tom has complimented you plenty of times tonight, but you still tilt your head and listen closely, taking in his words because he looks you up and down with something more than lust. "You look very pretty. All dolled up for the party. And now for me."

His next grin is irresistible. He's so damn charming with barely any effort. No wonder things happened the way they did between the two of you.

"Thank you," you say honestly. "You were amazing tonight as well. Hot." For a second, you look down at him and trace the slopes of his muscles through his shirt as you speak, feeling his eyes on your hand just the same. "Handsome. Generous with the drinks. And that last glass of wine, mmm... A remarkable choice."

Tom smiles against your cheek before he collects your mouth into a sweet, short kiss. "You're not drunk, are you?"

"Not at all." You gulp and straighten up, trying to do a four with your legs in order to prove to him that you can stand up straight. In heels. Somehow. "Not sober, but totally conscious. And consenting."

"Mmm, that's even hotter," he says, splaying his hand over your hip bone, fingers playing with the edges of the slit, before he kisses you and swipes it downward. All the way between your legs.

He immediately pulls back from the kiss.

"Your panties are all wet."

"Uhmm, yeah," you admit, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. With both eyes flicking towards him, you tilt your head to the side and close your legs around his hand a bit. "Been having a little problem in the last few hours. Ever since you removed your jacket at the party, I've been, um. How do I put this?"

"Wet?"

"To use one word, yeah. But if you wanna go straight to the point, horny."

Tom kisses you again, fingers sneaking past the fabric and into your pussy one at a time. "And to think I could've been doing this at someone's party..."

You giggle into the next kiss, then say, "You wouldn't..." Tom only shrugs his shoulders and smirks into your mouth. "Not to your bae, you wouldn't!"

With a shake of his head, Tom ignores anything you say and keeps fingering your wet, welcoming hole. Making you hiss when he scissors them. Forcing you to chase his touch when he teases a nail over your clit and drags it away in the next second.

In return, you press a hand against his crotch, giving it a squeeze where the obvious curve of his cock protrudes through the expensive fabric. He's hard and straining in his trousers, in so much anticipation that his next kiss is pure chaos. All tongue and teeth, mouths clashing together as he tugs your undies down from around your hips and you try to undo his clothes until his cock springs out for attention.

"Wait," you say when Tom pushes his erection into your hand. You hold him there and pump a little, stepping out of your knickers and using the tip of your sandal to lift it far enough that you can grab them. Tom takes them into his pocket and you squeeze him harder as a thanks, hearing the fizz of his hiss at the pressure.

No matter how hot, you feel like you have to tell him something before things progress too much. "I don't think I want to actually fuck in this dress, though. Rented and all, y'know? Would hate to return it with an ugly stain."

While you speak, Tom continues to kiss along your neck, sucking the skin into his mouth at every other word. You press into it of course, trying to make sense of what you want to say.

"But. That said." You tremble when he licks that spot close to your ear, curling both hands around his arms to stop him from pulling back from what he's doing right now. "Oral would be okay."

"Mmm," Tom hums into your ear, gathering the lobe between his teeth to suck on it lightly. "I do love eating your pussy. Bet you're gonna make a mess."

"Mmyeah," you concur, biting on his ear in response when it's within reach. With your hand still on his cock, you give him another squeeze and drape your thumb over the head, feeling the pre-cum that has pooled up there. "Me first."

With no further warning, you let your body drop down, your back still to the front door, and kneel on the floor as best as you can. Your legs go wherever they want so that the dress isn't strained too much and you're comfortable enough to stretch your neck and mouth the skin on his thigh.

"Fuck, I wasn't expecting that," Tom chuckles, his body caving forward where you leave a trail of wet kisses up his groin and over what little hairs he has around his cock. "You look even better in that dress right now."

You glance up at his words, hand caressing his cock, pumping slowly, tonguing at your lips as a hint of what you'll be doing next. His eyes don't leave yours except when he stares at your mouth, so you use it to suck on his balls, appreciating the look of bliss on his face as you change from one to the other.

The slit of your dress is spread around your thigh, the fabric a little tight across the hips, and you sure hope you're not dripping directly on it. That would be quite contradictory to what you just told Tom. However, you decide to forget all about it and focus on the task at hand. Giving little licks up his cock, tracing that vein that crosses more than half of his length, then using the whole pad of your tongue on the way up to where you enclose around the tip. Sucking on it right away.

"Fuck," Tom gasps and twitches further into your mouth. "Swallow it, c'mon."

Forever the impatient man that he is, you do as he says nonetheless, taking more of his cock with determined bobs of your head. Back and forward, covering at least half of his size, your tongue around the shaft, and exploring the little curves and corners that make him curse aloud and jerk forward.

His hand is on the crown of your head, and you let him rest it there, gazing up to see his face all covered in pleasure, eyelids half closed, mouth agape, nose inflating through big intakes of breath. He's beautiful like this, so you suck on him even harder.

You close your eyes and pull your hand away, letting him set the pace and gag you and fuck your face. The little gasps that escape from him feed your ego. They tell you you're doing a decent job, but it's not enough yet. You want him tingling and breaking, so you swallow all of his dick and fight against the push of his palm so you can bob your head faster, harder, all the way up and down until he's twitching on your tongue.

"Enough, enough," he staggers through his words, his hand moving to your forehead to stop the motions. "I'm gonna come if you keep doing that, fuck, that was so good, baby."

"You're welcome." You grin up at him even though he doesn't see you. His other hand is pressed against the door, holding his weight as he leans forward, his head bent between his shoulders.

You get up on your feet and adjust the dress while he gathers his breath, welcoming the hand he curls around your waist to pull you to his side. Your chest meets his right there and then, mouths clashing all askew, but you don't bother to line them up properly.

"Now you," he says against the corner of your lips, leaving a little lick there for good measure. You smile and hum into him.

"Where do you wanna do this?"

"Some place where you can hold on to something," he suggests. "Doing this by the front door? Do not recommend. Fuck no, I almost toppled over a couple of times."

"Thank you for the compliment," you say. You can be just as cheeky as he is, too. Tom seems to appreciate it because he pecks your lips, then grabs your hand and pulls towards the living room.

"Knee on the couch, facing the back?" he half asks, half commands, but you have no problem obeying him.

"This stays on, yeah?" You tug at your dress, heels clicking on your way around the coffee table.

"Oh, absolutely." He grins.

So you follow his instructions and kneel in the middle of the seat, facing the back of the couch, both hands on top for support. Legs spread apart just enough. Your skirt covers pretty much everything, but it all flies to the back of your mind as soon as he drops to the floor behind you.

It's interesting to watch him move, mostly because you don't remember ever trying this position. You're on the couch and he's sitting on the floor, back pressed against the front of the cushions, head tipped back over the seat. He won't exactly reach you from this angle, which means you will have full liberty over your movements. It will be like riding his face and that sounds amazing.

His head is slightly hidden by your dress. The slit slides to the side and the fabric hovers over his eyes, adding a little mystery to the whole scenario. Which is even more exciting. Your belly is curled up in anticipation, not really knowing what he's doing because you can't see anything, but you can't feel anything just yet either.

You figure he's just staring at you. Both of his hands are curled tight around your bum cheeks. First you sense the prickle of his buzzcut on the inside of your thighs, Tom rubbing his head there just the way you love, making you hiss and hum and nuzzle back until all you know is carpet burn.

Then comes the tongue. Cheeky, just the tip, toying with your little folds until he finds your clit. One of his hands comes to the front to keep you spread open for him, the other moves to press a fingertip on your entrance. And just like that, before Tom can do anything, you press downward with all your might.

Your pelvis totally knocks against his teeth, but it's all lost to you when two of his fingers sink inside and he starts sucking on your panging nub.

His concentrated hums vibrate through you, all the way from your core to your feet and your belly and your brain. Tom alternates between suction and little dabs of his tongue, fingers deep into you searching for that spot, and when he finds it, he presses them just right and you almost come on the spot.

Riding his face is one of the best things you've ever tried, and the fact that you can't see what he's doing or predict what he's going to do next is even more tantalizing.

Except he stops everything altogether.

"Fuck."

You grasp your slit to push the fabric aside and ask, "What's the matter?"

"I didn't think this through." He tugs on your dress. "I can't fucking see you."

You don't want to laugh, but you can't stop it when it trembles through your ribcage, coming out loud and almost mocking.

"Hey!" He pouts.

"Aw, I'm sorry," you say, quieting down and moving a leg so you'll crawl down from the couch to kneel beside him. "You want me to take this off?"

He nods in silence, the pout still on as though you need it for pity. You kiss it away amusingly.

"Hmm, you taste like cunt."

"Yeah, I wonder why..." he chimes, smirking at you at last. "Let's get a condom."

"Deal. Race you to the bedroom?"

You don't wait for Tom to agree to dart up to your feet. Of course you also don't expect him to grab both of your legs and pull until you drop noisily onto the couch.

"Ow!" you whine loudly, rubbing your hip mostly for effect.

"That's cheating," he accuses.

"Just using the tricks at my disposal..." You're mocking what he said to you one time. You can't really pinpoint when it was, but you can tell he realizes what you're doing by the look of absolute spite on his face.

Then he takes off first, leaving you protesting on the couch.

"Fair's fair," he says.

You huff at him, not bothering to mouth off in response since you were about to do the same to him. Adjusting the strap of your dress on your way to your bedroom, you see Tom already fumbling through his bedside table drawer and almost don't want to go through yours, thinking he'll find a condom in no time.

"We have a problem."

Looking over your shoulder, you watch Tom lean against the doorframe with his clothes still on and his hard cock dangling in front of him. One of his hands is tugging on the buttons of his shirt, too, exposing more of his chest.

"No rubbers?"

"Nope. You are our only hope," he says. His steps cross the room loudly as you turn to your own bedside table, opening the top drawer where you're sure you'll find... well, nothing. "Where's your condoms?"

"Not here," you point out obnoxiously. Both of you stare at the empty drawer as though a full pack of condoms would appear magically just from that. "Did we run through the last box?"

You feel the shrug of his shoulders against you. "Mine was gone too, so maybe... wait."

"What?"

Tom grunts. "Would the Harries prank us with this?"

"By hiding your condoms?" you say. "That makes no freaking sense."

"I guess, I mean, like, I wouldn't go anywhere near anyone's condoms like that," Tom says with a little laugh.

"Exactly. But now what?" You sigh, picking on an edge of the fabric of your dress. "Guess you're not fucking me in this at all."

You turn to Tom just in time to see his face light up. "Secret stash in the living room."

"Fuck yeah!" you exclaim and bolt to the door to follow him out of the room.

You smack his butt when he steps in front of you, but he only twirls on his heels to grab you by the shoulders as he walks backwards.

"You hot genius motherfucker," you mumble into his lips, smacking them loudly over and over again until you cross the hallway and step into the living room all over again.

While he trails to the cabinet with the decorative eggs you've been using as secret hideouts for a while, you notice how the night looks gorgeous on the other side of the window. Apparently you left the blinds open earlier, and now the streetlights are glowing beautifully into the room. You almost let yourself be seduced by the idea of doing this outside. However, inspired by this lovely sight and the night's events, a different idea hits you.

Perhaps the empty nightstand drawers were not a prank, but a sign from the fantasy deities.

"Bingooo," Tom says in sing-song. When you glance at him, he's dropping both pieces of the small taupe egg on the cabinet and showing you the silver wrapper between two fingers. "Dress off, young lady. We're back in—"

He stops out of nowhere. He must have seen that you're standing by the doorway into the living room, looking down at your fingers, starting to count one by one.

"What are you doing?" he asks, now walking closer.

"Math," you reply, cursing when you realize you have to start over.

"Foooor...?"

"Cum."

"Huh?"

Clearly your half answer doesn't mean anything to him, so you look up at him with a smile and lift a couple of fingers to soothe his frown, saying, "Pie."

His expression doesn't ease immediately, but little by little his confusion starts giving way to clarity. And suddenly his whole face lights up brighter than the streetlights and the moonlight combined .

"You sure?" he asks, but you don't answer. You simply pluck the condom from his hand and flick it off with a few fingers. You can't tell where it lands, but it's the thought that counts.

"Why not save our secret stash for when the math isn't right?"

There's a moment of silence right then. Tom looks positively surprised, eyes all radiant and glinting. It's almost like he doesn't even know what to do with himself now that you've given him the okay to have sex without a condom so he could get at least this fantasy out of the way, but you can help him with that.

"Prank or not, maybe the lack of condoms was a sign..."

You turn off the ceiling lights next.

"That's hot," Tom says in a sensual, humming voice.

"Yeah?" you ask through a smirk. "Watch this."

In total silence, you walk to the window and stand between the glass and the armchair that's next to it.

"Oh, fuck."

You giggle, of course. It was pretty obvious what he was going to associate this with, and you can't say you strolled all the way over here innocently, so you clarify, "Not that, but how about this?"

Turning around, you pull the left curtain as far as it goes and move the chair so that the back is only a few inches away from the window. The full moon and the electrical lights fill this area of the room and set a very gentle mood. It's just enough illumination for what you have in mind. As long as Tom agrees.

He's smiling as he walks towards you, so you suppose it's another mission well accomplished.

"Thanks for doing this for me," he says softly, cradling the side of your face and pulling you into a kiss.

"Anytime, but you owe me," you say somewhat jokingly.

"Absolutely, next time, we do one of yours."

"Deal. Now fuck me." You giggle and tug on his shirt, then on the chain hanging from his neck, luring him into another kiss.

You both start shedding clothes off as fast as possible, his first so he can help you with your dress next. By the time you're standing there in your bra and heels, and him in his briefs and socks and necklace, you watch as Tom holds you by the waist and takes a deep breath through his nose.

"Nervous?" you ask him. He doesn't say anything, only nods and bites on his bottom lip so hard you can see the little dent from his teeth on the skin.

Smiling at him with grace, you start by moving his hands away from your waist so you can sit in the armchair, bra and heels the only thing on your body, and by tugging on his briefs until they come off entirely. Then you take hold of his cock and drape little kisses down the shaft, wiping the beads of white that pool up in your fist across his length.

"Fuck, I need to be in you, like, right now," he whispers, tapping your head as though he wants you to move away. You do it just in case. "Wait, maybe we should use something to cover the chair? It's—"

"We can be careful," you tell him with a chaste kiss on his hip before you glance up and yank on his chain so he'll lean closer. "You're gonna clean me up after, right?"

"Fuck yeah."

The shit-eating grin on his face feeds your appetite more than it probably should, but before you can kiss him, his phone pings loudly somewhere.

"Oh c'mon!" Tom grunts.

"I think we should check that," you say with a kiss in the middle of his chest, straightening up in the chair next. "It could be Harrison boasting about his rubber robbery." You giggle. Tom only rolls his eyes. "Or, y'know, asking to come home."

"I guess..." he agrees, looking around until he finds his trousers he discarded before on the back of the couch to retrieve the phone from the pocket.

"Or worse. He could be here already," you point out. You shut up immediately at the sight of Tom's peeved look, though, hiding a little giggle in your fist.

Tom gets the phone and thumbs at it a few times, not telling you anything about what's going on. While you wait, you might as well adjust your position on the chair, so you place your hips near the edge of the seat, practice how far you should spread your legs so it will be enticing without being too much, and play with yourself a little to make sure you'll be all wet when he comes back.

"All right," he says by your side. Looking up, you notice he's still focused on the screen, so you cross your legs for the moment. "It wasn't Harrison, just a stupid ad, but I told him to give us a while longer anyway. Just in case."

"Awesome."

At the sound of your voice, Tom finally glances up, although he stops immediately, phone almost slipping from his hand at the slow motion show you're putting on while uncrossing your legs.

"Fuck. Me," he swallows down hard between his words. Eyes going wide to match. Thumb pressing the side button before he discards the phone on the floor. You notice the hard gulp balancing Tom's throat up and down as he approaches you, his gaze transfixed on your awaiting legs.

"Everything all right?" you ask.

"Yeah."

"Then what are you waiting for?" you taunt him, spreading your thighs even more. Throwing one knee over the arm of the chair to expose yourself completely.

"Fuck," he breathes out heavily.

Tom positions himself in front of you, cock twitching upright, all pink and gorgeous. You pump it a few times, expecting it to swell even larger from your touch. The veins popping out down the sides, the big one that swirls all around it is nearly red with desire.

You place a hand on his shoulder and lower him over you, tapping his cock on the top of your slit.

"Holy shit," he stammers when he replaces your hand with his to hold himself and line up with your core. His eyes seek yours, a mix of fright and elation, his bare soul on display as he's about to see another of his fantasies come to life. You honestly can't wait. You thrive of seeing him happy with the sex life you've shared for so long.

"It's okay," you remind him, caressing his arm with a thumb where you have both hands around his biceps. "It's okay to be a little frightened, but you got this." He gulps when you pause. "Fuck me, Tom. Fuck me raw."

And his cock slides in as you reel him closer for a hot kiss.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he says on repeat over your lips, both of your mouths open and touching really fucking close until he bottoms out, the base of his crotch pressed against yours.

You wrap your arms around him and kiss him for real, clenching around his length and feeling the big vein that crosses his cock rub against the thin walls inside.

Tom pulls out and back in, moaning loud. "I can— fuck, I can feel every single ridge of your cunt. Holy— shit, that feels so fucking good."

"So good, Tom, just like you always promised."

He sets a slow pace, hissing and biting into his lip. His hands on the arms of the chair so he's hovering over your face. His silver necklace sways right in front of your mouth, and you suck in your lip to avoid biting on it instead.

"This is the closest we've ever been," you remind him, holding on to his shoulders as you kiss him, off-kilter and out of sync. Your back arches to the deliberate lilt of his body as he picks up speed, eyes never straying from your middles, hips bucking at different angles as he fucks into you steadily.

"Literally nothing between us right now," you moan, head tipped back as you clench around his rhythmic thrusts.

"I know, yeah, oh fuck... fuck, I'm gonna fucking come," he cries out, collecting your lips and holding them captive between his. His next moan gets trapped in his throat, sounds deep and so fucking intense, reverberating through you as though you're the one climaxing. You hold on to his biceps so he'll know you're in this for him, keeping your muscles as tight around his cock as you can while he continues thrusting erratically into your body.

Spreading you open so damn good, you're already set alight just from the pressure of his bare cock in every spot that twinges for his touch.

And he looks so beautiful like this, surrendering to the pleasure, eyes liquid fire, mouth agape, his whole being shaking with his high. His length pressing past your clenched walls, making it hurt as much as it is blissful.

You caress his head, running nails and fingers and palm all over the scalp, beneath his ears and back up to the crown of his head. The prickle of his buzzed off hair burns on your skin as he comes to a stop, panting into the crook of your neck. His teeth digging into your flesh. The aftershocks run through him like electricity, all the small hairs on his body standing up and crackling on your own skin.

"Oh fuck," he speaks at last kissing your shoulder where it's slightly hurting before he leaves a wet trail up to your mouth. You turn your head to the side, wanting to see the look on his face. Wanting to read everything he's feeling right now, the highs and lows of coming so fast.

"Please no 30 second jokes," he pleads in a small voice, kissing your lips with fervor. "I'm soaring so fucking high right now."

"Shhh," you shush him with a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Enjoy this. Ride it all out."

He moves his hips back and forth a little bit, almost as if he still has anything to milk out of himself, but from the suavity of his thrusts, you can tell that what he's trying to do is keep his cock hard.

"How does it feel for you? Is it good? Any different?" he pants into your face.

You figure making conversation will help control the oversensitive, overstimulated sensations, but you also notice how hard he's struggling to even keep his eyes open so he can stare at you.

"So fucking different, oh my, everything is so much—" you inhale when he presses into your spot on a thrust in— "More, fuck."

Tom calls your name in near desperation and starts picking up the pace again.

"God, Tom, uh, keep pressing right there," you beg of him, not knowing any other way to tell him to never fucking stop.

He obeys, blindly so. Eyes shut tight, forehead all creased as he clearly explores every bit of sensation his body and mind are going through right now. Yours are lost in the moment as well, anything else that might have happened today or every other day of your life is futile in comparison.

His phone goes off on the floor a few more times, and you can see the lit up screen through the corner of your eye if you glance in that direction, but you're not going to stop now. This moment is Tom's, so you clench around him and adjust your position on the chair until he hurls from pure bliss.

Your legs are so wide now, one splayed over the chair and the other practically pushing him into you, yet you still find an angle where you can watch Tom's cock slide in and out of you, no rubber draped around it tonight.

Fuck, he looks so fucking gorgeous, all skin on skin, heat on heat, rubbing each other off into all levels of heaven and hell. At some point, Tom pulls out completely, length covered in white, and his head tips downward.

"This looks so fucking hot," he murmurs, dropping a kiss on the top of your head. You're still looking down, watching as he rubs his tip around your hole, probably collecting any cum that's seeping out of you by now.

You try to look up at his face, see what he's seeing and what he's feeling, but there's no time. You can only close your eyes because he slides right back into you, cock dragging exquisitely between your walls. And he's right, the veins and natural ridges of his shaft, they're all more prominent tonight. The slight curve to the left has never been more delicious.

"Fuck, Tom, stop being a bloody tease," you whine because he keeps pulling out, circling your hole and pulling back in just a fraction of an inch. You get so desperate when he's out, so damn tight when he draws back in, that you never want to let go.

On a thrust forward, you trap him inside you with your arms around his waist, guiding him back and forward just enough that he's building a rope of pleasure in your gut.

He's still hard, which is a feat, but given that he never stopped after his first orgasm, it's more than convincing. It's freaking amazing, and you hope you can get him there a second time.

The slap of skin grows louder and louder as Tom's thrusts become faster, halfway out, all the way in, finding your sweet spot more often than not. The chain snaps against his collarbones and your chin on its sway back and forth.

Everything down there is wet and squeaky, you can imagine from all of your fluids mixed with his cum, not to mention how much wetter he just made you from the teasing of his cockhead.

"Sorry," you say when the squelch of your cunt is hard to ignore, filling the room while your pants weaken from the expectation.

"Nothing to be sorry for," he says with his lips on yours. "This is, fuck, fucking everything I've been dreaming about." He smirks, focusing his hips in one direction and tapping deliberately into your spot on every thrust without fail.

"Fuuuuck," you drag out a moan at the cold of his necklace grazing your chest, struggling to keep your legs still. Every surface is slippery right now, from sweat and cum and the wet breaths coming out of your open mouths.

"Y/n, baby, oh fuck," Tom starts to stutter, along with his hips again. You just know he's close again, you can feel his cock twitching inside, and you try to close your legs to create more friction, but he stops you with a hand on your knee. He keeps them apart, slapping your clit half as a punishment, but all it does is shoot a ray of delight across all your sensory endings.

His cock keeps hitting you dead-on where your body wants to be poked, and his thumb rubs your clit in fury, forcing your senses to collapse all at once. Before you know it, his moans sound more volatile and yours grow in volume as your stomach pulls from the inside, a river of pleasure streaming from your head to toe, covering you in heat and release and desperation as you come at his mercy.

You shake all over and grab on to his shoulders, nails gouging into flesh and bone, welcoming his kiss no matter how uneven it is. You moan into his mouth just like that, taking it as your body wants, the coil in your gut all loose and electrified.

When you regain consciousness again, Tom is still fucking into you, frowning at you, then glancing between your bodies where his crotch is hitting yours at full speed.

"Fuck, oh my— fuck," he keeps saying, over and over again the same fucking curse. You love watching him when he realizes his orgasm is building up, the twitch of his brow, the tension in his mouth, his cheeks blowing red before he shouts and caves over you.

"Yeah, that's it, come for me," you whine in his ear, holding him tight. "Fill me up to the brim, baby."

And the thing is that you can feel it, ridiculous as it may be. You're so full of him right now, his fluids coupled with yours, all pumped into you from the thrusts that only now start to subside. You stretch your hands anywhere you can reach, from his shoulders to his arms to the curve of his bum, hoisting him in and out of you with all kinds of wet noises coming from the criss-cross of your hips.

You hold him close when he finally stops, legs entangled around his, arms tight on his waist. His cock keeps twitching and jerking inside of you, keeping you so full you know you're bursting at the seams. Tom rests for a second, mouth agape and breathing onto your breast, and you only realize he's fully back to his senses when he lifts your bra out of the way to start mouthing your nipple as if he doesn't know how sensitive they are.

"Tom, Tom," you mewl softly, cradling the back of his head. He stops sucking, but his lips stay put around your nipple, keeping it warm. His palm covers the other. And you caress the curve of his scalp soothingly until he stops panting over you.

"Hey, you up?" you tease when his phone goes off one more time.

"Yeah, I'm here, yeah," he says, and you perceive the shape of his smile on the side of your breast now. "Just gimme a second. Fuck, that was so good."

"Your phone, though."

"Fuck my phone, I don't care."

"Tommm!" You laugh. Yet no matter how awful that sounds, you're not the most eager to move away just yet either. He feels so warm and close and... yours. You sigh. "You came twice, didn't you?"

"Mhmm."

"And how does that feel?" You most definitely want to know. While he's made you come twice in the same night, this had never happened to him. He's usually exhausted after an orgasm, all hormonal from his release, but tonight was totally out of the ordinary.

"Honestly?" he asks, lifting his head from your bosom at least. Tom wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and says, "Feels like I'm about to barf."

"Wo-kay then," you chuckle, patting his head and bringing his face back to your breast. "Stay there as long as you need, champ."

He laughs a little, but stops a few seconds later. You feel him gulp against your skin from how tight his throat is against you, but you don't complain. It's obvious he isn't used to such an intense experience, so you let him rest and enjoy it.

"Aren't you glad they stole our condoms?" you ask amusingly.

Tom's shoulders shake with more soft laughs, then with a sigh. "Oh I am," he says with another deep gulp. "I truly, honestly am. That was, ugh."

You don't need the words. You know very well what it is like, to have your fantasy delivered on a platter by someone you fancy. It's too bad he doesn't get a lot of time to enjoy it because his phone keeps going off.

"Fuck, Harrison, leave me alone!"

"I got him..." you say, extending your arm to see if you can reach the device that Tom threw onto the floor haphazardly before.

You stretch yourself to your maximum, not wanting to move too much because of Tom, especially because if you do, his cock might pull out and ruin the magic of this moment. But then if you take too long, it might also deflate and ruin it just the same. The solution is to keep tapping at the phone, hitting it with the tips of your fingers every single time. Somehow it works and it's getting closer and closer, but on a sudden tap the screen lights up at the same time and you hit the answer button by accident.

"Fuck, I answered it," you whisper, loud enough for Tom to hear. He moves, possibly feeling better now, and stretches his arm to grab the phone.

Tom hits the end call button, making you laugh into your hand, then you watch him type way too fast. 10 min, his message says, but first one of Harrison's pops up on the screen.

Ffs why answer the phone for that

"Yep," you say, nodding your head in a sufferable manner. Tom hits send at the same time, tossing the phone to the carpet again. "He's officially going to kill us now."

"I'll buy him something nice."

"You wanna bribe him?" You yell out a laugh.

"It'll work." Tom shrugs and breathes out heavily, both hands on the arms of the chair as he stares at you now. "Got something way more important to cater to anyway."

The softness of his words makes you smile up at him, twirling two fingers around his chain on your way to caress his chin when he draws back for a short kiss. Your crotches have not shifted a single inch throughout this whole ordeal, so when he finally moves to straighten up his back, the wetness that had pooled in between your bodies starts to untether.

"Are you ready?" you ask of him, biting into your bottom lip. He's doing exactly the same, sucking in a deep breath through his nose. "This is it."

"Yeah, it's exciting," he replies with a peck on your nose. "Too bad we don't have much time right now."

"Next time." You smile at him, giving him a proper kiss on the mouth without making it too long so he can enjoy this moment for a little more.

First, Tom moves a hand to the seat of the armchair, keeping his palm down on the cushion to the right of your hip. The muscles on his arm clench when he supports his weight on that hand, using the other to grasp around the base of his cock. He tries to slide in and out of you some more, but it's already deflating, which makes it a little trickier. You wrap your arms around your legs to keep them out of the way as much as possible, letting Tom enjoy his fantasy right now.

When he pulls out at last, you can't really see what he's looking at, but it's pretty obvious that you're wet all over. His cum, your cum, the sweat of two bodies pressed together erratically for however long this fuck lasted tonight. So instead you focus on his face, watching the different emotions roll through it. Anticipation, surprise, elation, nothing but bliss whenever the head of his cock drags downward from your hole and pushes whatever fluid back inside.

"There's so much fucking cum, holy shit," he says with a hiss, pushing back in for a second and holding on. Tom kisses you fervently before you can answer, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth as he keeps pumping his dick into you in steady, slow motions.

"Tom," you whine into his lips, wanting him to not forget that you're sort of on a schedule right now. He nods, still into the kiss, drilling his cock all the way into you and pressing forward. There isn't much sensation right now, but you absolutely still revel in his presence. The proximity. The nothing in between the two of you for the first time ever.

"I got you, pretty girl," he says, wrapping up the kiss and straightening back up. Hand once more wrapped around his cock, he pulls it out completely and kneels between your legs. "Not gonna let this go to waste, though."

What he says doesn't click right away, but its meaning is quite clear once his fingers push back into you. Your eyes flick between his face and your middle, watching as he pumps as much fluid as he can in and out of you. Stretching his fingers so it will pour out, only to drag them down and back up, plunging them back inside time and time again until the torpor becomes pleasure once more.

Apparently he's not satisfied yet, but you keep quiet and watch him work his fantasy. First his fingers, then his palm pressed against your whole pussy. It comes out all wet, and he smears it across your own face.

"Lick," he orders softly. You obey without a second thought.

His other hand dunks two more fingers back into you, scissoring them this time. You clench your muscles so that what's left of the fluids inside you will trickle down to your ass, definitely to the chair and maybe even the floor, but Tom remains unfazed by any of this. He keeps his hand hovering over your face as you roll your tongue to clean every drop of wet that still covers it.

At one point, he sticks two fingers into your mouth and two more into your cunt, fucking both of your holes at a similar pace. His eyes are twinkling with mischief, torn between staring at your crotch or at your face since both are covered in the mess you just made together.

"Wish I could take a picture right now," he mumbles.

If only you'd let me buy that camera, you think to yourself. Filming your sensual shenanigans has always been one of your fantasies, but Tom said he was too scared to try it. Even when you suggested a completely new camera that neither of you would ever connect to the internet, he still felt guarded about the idea. And you respected that, of course.

Now, he approaches your face and dabs at it with his tongue, never taking his fingers from where they're lodged at the entrance to your throat. You gag around them, but the hot feeling is too fucking much. You're absolutely blinded by it, by the glint of satiation in his eyes.

His fingers move next, the four of them retreating from inside you. Leaving you breathless on the chair, legs still pushed however you can despite the pain of having to keep them up. It hurts, but you'll hold them right there for as long as that look of gratification stays on Tom's face.

Tom moves too, lowering himself to line up with your crotch where he starts to lick you clean once more. The angle makes the curve of his head press against that sensitive cleft that connects your thigh to your hip, and you draw your head back and close your eyes at the feeling.

"Fuck, Tom," you moan in hypersensation, yet keeping one hand on his scalp and scratching in the direction that he moves of his own accord.

He ends up mouthing at your folds, lapping at your clit, and even fucking your already abused hole with a quick tongue until you're absolutely fucking drenched.

"Enough, enough," you mewl, tapping his head so he'll move away. You're not capable of taking any more of all this oral appreciation for your core unless he plans to finish it on another high note, but there's not exactly a lot of time, so you'd rather put a stop to it before it's too late.

Tom pulls back immediately, caressing the outer curve of your hips with both palms.

"Thank you," he whispers onto your belly where he leaves a tiny kiss over your navel.

"And thank you." You both smile at each other when Tom sits back on his heels.

And it's as if fate or karma calls out to you because that's the exact moment when his phone starts vibrating on the floor again. Tom rolls his eyes exasperatedly, but he moves to grab it and answer the call, hitting the speaker button.

"'Lo?"

"First of all, please tell me you're not..." Harrison says without even finishing his sentence. The disgust in his voice tells you enough.

"You wish, huh?" Tom says.

"No, we're not," you cut him off, smacking Tom's chest lightly for his sass, at the same time as you bring your legs back down. You utter a faint 'fuck me' because they twinge when you try to pull them together, which may not have been the greatest idea. Tom widens his eyes at you.

"Just ten more minutes, all right?" he asks, voice a little muffled because he's nuzzling his mouth on your knee to kiss you there.

"Ten— what?! You've gotta be fucking kidding me, mate," Harrison complains. He has every right to be angry, but you're not going to tell him that right now. There's still a bit of a mess you have to clean up, and it needs to be done right and in record time.

"Ten minutes," you insist. Tom caresses your outer thighs as you add, "Trust me, you have no idea what's going on here right now."

"And I don't want to," Harrison says, making you grin. Hopefully not too audibly.

"Yeah, your little prank didn't work, mate."

"Stop," you chastise Tom with a laugh. Only because you don't know for sure if there was even a prank.

There's some sort of shuffling in the background of the other side of the call, and then a familiar voice shouts, "They found the damn things, didn't they?"

Fucking Harry, always where Harrison is.

"There's your culprit," Tom says, placing a kiss on your lips to hide the giggle you let out against your will. "Ten minutes," he adds, pausing when he glances down at your middle. "I think."

"Should be enough," you put in, staring at what he's looking at as well. "If you weren't leaking onto the fucking carpet."

"End call!" both boys shout from the phone.

"Whoops." Tom laughs, pressing the end button with his thumb. Unable to resist his guilty expression, you giggle out loud even though you cannot afford to waste any more time.

"Hey, stop laughing."

"I can't," you wheeze, "I can't." Tom flicks two fingers against the curve of your hip until you stop. "You're so naturally problematic with technology, they weren't even mad. They were just telling you to end the freaking call."

"And did you hear Harry's confession?" Tom smacks his lips together.

You don't say anything, just keep giggling at everything and nothing.

"And you're still laughing," he warns in a low tone, giving you a side look.

"Sorry, sorry, I'll stop," you giggle, but straighten up in the armchair so it will stop. "We need to clean up anyway. Where's my knickers?"

A brief gaze across the room shows you what you're looking for next to the couch. Your dress and Tom's suit are draped over the back while his underwear ended up haphazardly on the floor. Yours are probably still in the pocket of his trousers.

"Uh, this is so not hygienic," you groan as you get up. The thought of putting any clothes on without cleaning yourself properly darts a shiver through your mind, but the truth is that you're going to have to wash up after sorting out everything in the living room. There's too much going on out here that Harrison should not walk into.

You grab your undies and throw Tom's into his awaiting hands now that he's already up on his feet, too, then you watch him using the briefs to wipe his dick.

"No time for that, mate, giddy up. We have a lot to do here," you tell him, snapping the band of your panties on your hips.

"I'm not getting dressed like this," he whines. "You always make such a mess, what the fuck."

You scoff. "Right, next time let's squirt into a blank wall and see who wins that battle, champ."

"You did not just—" He gapes at you.

"Oh yeah, I did just—" you say with an eye-roll. Then a stupid question floods your mind. "Hey, you ever tried to see how far your cumshot goes?"

Tom only laughs, putting on his briefs at last. "You're such a fucking weirdo, what kind of question is that?"

"Just a question. C'mon, we gotta move."

"Yeah," Tom agrees, "or someone will lose their head tonight."

"Hopefully not this head," you chide, grazing your hand across his crotch as you make your way to the chair to put it back in its place.

Tom stops you with an arm in front of your chest. "Oh no."

When you follow his gaze, you see what he's talking about. "So much for being careful, eh?"

"Y/n, no. This is bad bad," he mutters, getting down on one knee. He keeps mumbling whatever as he tries to scrub the stain on the chair with his hand, but it's more than just a stain. It's several big wet spots all over, a particularly large one curled around the edge of the seat.

"What, it's just a few stains. We've dealt with worse," you try to reason with him, but Tom throws you a mad look over his shoulder. He hoists himself back up on his feet and starts walking away. You don't really get why he's being so crazy about this until a more enunciated word escapes through his mumbles. "Please tell me this isn't Harrison's chair."

Tom stops in his tracks, a hand on the doorframe that leads to the hall, and says, "...okay."

"This is Harrison's chair??"

"Yeah!" He gruffs, turning around to face you again. His hands fly all over the place as he says, "That's why I wanted to use something to cover it, but noooo, you thought we would be careful. And I thought, fuck it. Ugh, typical Tom. So typical."

"Fuck off, but why is his chair here?"

"I dunno! He had something else going on in his room and moved the chair here, do you think I asked?"

"I thought it was just a chair..." you trail off.

"Well, it's not."

It's crazy to think that after so long in this flat, you had never even questioned the source of the chair. It had always been here and for all you cared, it belonged to the both of them or even to the landlord himself.

"Dammit. We can always send it to dry cleaning," you suggest.

"Or I'll just buy him a new one. That would be faster, and he wouldn't complain about the history of the chair. You know how he is."

You tilt your head at him and his idea that new things will fix the problem.

"Don't look at me like that, I'll get him a better one."

You sigh at his hurried reply, then grab the chair by the wooden arms to carry it to where Tom is still standing. "We have to move it out of here anyway, then we'll think about that. C'mon, there's a lot to do before H waltzes back in here and stains his chair with blood."

"Damn, talk about dramatic," Tom says after you transfer the chair to his hands.

"Like you're not worried." You scoff. "I suppose we can say it was payback for taking our condoms."

Tom cackles at your suggestion.

"C'mon, get rid of this. There's more space in my room, if you want," you instruct him.

As he makes his way inside, you look around the room and take mental notes of everything you need to sort out. There's not much time left if Harrison follows the ten minutes window Tom had told him on the phone, so you start by turning on the lights, sliding the window open to hopefully ventilate the stench of sweat and more.

The cleanup after sex is the worst because you have to be thorough or you'll end up royally fucked in an unpleasant way. Which is not something you need right now. Harrison is a good friend, and he was kind enough that he didn't make a big deal out of the fact that you and Tom pretty much never stop making innuendos about sex even with others around. Coming home to a mess isn't something he deserves, poor thing.

Tom takes the longest time to return and when he does, you realize it's because that little fucker went and put on a pair of clean joggers. Chastising him for that, you throw his suit into his hands and drape your dress carefully around his neck so he'll take them anywhere else.

"One last thing I need to do here and we're done," you say, interrupting yourself. "I mean, I'm done."

"Sorry," Tom mutters through a charming smile, batting his eyelashes as though that will make any difference. You pinch his butt playfully in response.

Then it takes you at least two minutes to find the condom you had tossed over your shoulder earlier because it's hiding under the couch and you were looking for it by the doorway. Finally, you go back to the tv cabinet to hide the wrapper and take one look around to ensure everything looks perfect.

The door bangs closed just as you're grabbing the small decorative egg, so you run with it to your room to avoid being seen by Harrison in your wet knickers.

"Is everyone decent?!" Harrison asks from the door. There's a slight pause as though he's waiting for a reply before he does anything else. Smart move on his part, you think.

As soon as you step into the hallway, Tom says, "Yeah, you can come in, bro."

You hide behind the doorframe with your eyes on the two friends. There's no way you're going to miss this interaction right now. Tom is just standing there, shirtless, hands in the pockets of his joggers, the silver chain still glinting on the back of his neck. Harrison turns the corner into the room and inspects him up and down.

"We need different flats, Thomasin."

"I'm working on it," Tom says in a stern voice, meaning the new house he and his brothers have been looking into. Supposedly, they're all moving in together with Harrison and Tuwaine, and so far you're still invited to what's probably going to be worse than a frat house in those Neighbors movies, but you're excited about the move. Perhaps things could be different over there.

"Good," Harrison says with a sigh. "Make sure the house is at least 5 miles away from wherever you'll be staying, 'kay?"

"Not you with the dramatics too..." Tom scoffs. "Listen—"

"Tom..." Harrison cuts him off. You hold your breath in preparation for what might come up next. "Where's my chair?"

Standing in the empty hall, the ceiling lamp from the living room the only source of light filtering through the doorway, you notice the long moment of silence between the two of them. You can only imagine the look on Tom's face right now.

"Did you fuck in my chair?" Harrison asks more determinedly.

"Did you steal our condoms?"

You snort into your hand and walk fast to your bedroom. It will be impossible to listen to whatever else they're going to say without bursting from laughter. If Tom had told you from the beginning who the chair really belonged to, things would have gone very differently. Then again you think he did try to tell you tonight, you just didn't listen. Well, lesson learned.

Soon later, both of their steps cross the hallway as you're fetching a new pair of underwear. Tom comes into the room and closes the door behind him, turning around and lifting both hands. Holding a box of condoms in each of them.

"I told you it was Harry's idea."

"Really?!" You laugh open-mouthed, approaching Tom and grabbing one of them. When you open it, it's only half empty and the other one seems practically full when Tom shakes it in his hand. "I guess their prank worked in your favor..."

"Damn right it did," Tom goads with a big smile, enwrapping you with his arms and kissing your mouth. "Too bad I own Harrison a chair now, though."

"Did you tell him what happened?"

Tom plants little pecks of his lips across your jaw as he says, "Not in detail, but just enough to keep him from trying this again."

"All right, now that that mystery's solved," you say, interrupting yourself to lean your head to the side when he kisses your neck. "We should go wash up."

"He's probably heading to bed, so let him use the bathroom first..." he trails off prior to wrapping his lips around your earlobe. "We might take longer anyway."

You hum in agreement. "Sounds fair. But. Ugh. I am going to take off these knickers, they're stupid wet."

Tom chuckles into your ear and pulls away, dropping both boxes down at your feet. "Wait."

Palms tight around your sides, he holds you in place and drags both hands down to your hips.

"Don't start..."

"I won't, I won't," he says, tugging on your panties to slide them down your legs, but leaving little kisses in their wake.

You tip your head forward knowing exactly what he's like, what he's doing, but you lift one foot after the other and watch him abandon the fabric on the floor as he kisses his way back up. Your thighs, the curve of your bum, your tummy and nipples, lips and tongue dragging across every sensitive spot.

In the end, you let him envelop you into a hug, peck your lips a couple of times before he dives into a proper kiss. All you hear is the swoosh of your hand over his buzzcut, the hum of his soft moan as his tongue explores the top row of your teeth. The rattle of his necklace as you toy with it between your fingers. And he's so gentle, so tender, murmuring your name when he pulls back for air, that all the thoughts of how you feel about him slither back into your mind and for once you don't wish them away at all.

∗

The next morning, you wake up to wet kisses on your face and your nose scrunches up immediately.

"Maaaax, no, it's not chow time yet," you joke, pretending you can't tell who's stirring you up from sleep.

Tom pulls away immediately, the sheets rustling loudly beneath him. "Who's Max?"

You giggle at his peeved tone and peek through one eye. "Just my old dog. Relax, will ya? Your parents have one too, you know what it's like."

"Hmm, yeah."

Since he doesn't move closer yet, you open the other eye to blink at him and curl your hands around his neck, reeling him in until your back is once more against the bed. "Don't be jealous, champ. I'm right here."

It looks like the whole waking you up shenanigans was done on purpose. At least that's what you perceive when you realize that Tom seems to have showered because he smells like your conditioner.

"You smell lovely by the way, your hair's all smooth—" You wipe a hand over his shaved head. "No, wait, still prickly. Love it even more."

Tom smiles into your mouth at last, saying, "Good morning, princess," before he kisses you softly. Just once. Yet enough to drive a shot of magic into your belly.

"I don't look like a princess anymore," you pout, remembering how he called you that because you were wearing the rented, expensive dress that's now hanging on your door, ready to be returned. You're going to miss it in a way, that slit looked gorgeous on your thigh every time you checked yourself in the mirror.

He tugs on your lip with a fingertip and says, "You'll never not be a fucking princess."

You frown lightly at the lilt of his words, but Tom kisses you full on the mouth probably so he won't have to say anything else and so that you don't ask anything else either. It's sensual and languid, the perfect morning kiss, hands roaming freely on warm skin, meant in a way that sends tingles all the way down to your toes. You curl them around his calves and let your tongue rest under his, let him explore the roof of your mouth, swallowing down both of your soft moans in gluttony.

When it's over, your whole body shivers so you seek comfort in his, arms wrapped safely around his torso. Tom inhales your scent from behind your ear, then gazes at you softly with a teasing smile.

"Was thinking I could maybe get what I didn't finish yesterday? Hm? Would you like that?" he proposes cheekily, one of his legs darting up until his kneecap touches your crotch.

"You mean your mouth — this mouth," you say, tracing around his lips, sticking a thumb inside. His tongue rolls seamlessly across the pad, eyes glimmering with the same mischief with which he wiggles his brow. "...on me right now?"

"Mhmm." He smirks.

"Never gonna say no to that, champ."

You caress the crown of his head and push on it as he starts moving downwards, your other hand on his shoulder letting go only when he reaches too far. Tom gets settled between your legs and kisses your mound over your undies, but you stop him.

"Wait, what do you have for the trade?"

Tom smacks his lips together. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you'll do this for me, so what should I do for you after?"

"Oh, nothing," he chuckles, pointing at his chest. "This soldier is gonna need like a week to recover after last night."

"That good, uh?"

"So good," he smiles that charming smile, kissing your belly and curling his fingers over the edge of your panties. "Should I—?"

You sigh, studying his little teeth and his beautiful face for no reason other than studying it yet again, and say, "Hmm, no."

Tom looks up inquisitively. "What's up?"

"Don't want to do this if you don't want anything in return, that's all," you reply, hooking your feet under his armpits and hurling him up.

He settles comfortably over you, both legs entangled around yours. "What if I really, really, really want to do it?"

"Plenty of time for it next week," you trail off, heart hammering in your chest right underneath his that you swear you can feel through his ribcage. "After you recover."

"All right, if that's what you want..."

You nod and hum in agreement. Lying there on the pillows, right under him, you can't help but notice every single detail of his delicate features. Tom looks gorgeous like this, the bright bedside lamp illuminating him in all the right places, like the reddening tip of his nose, or his crooked grin, the corner of his mouth when he closes in and captures yours into another kiss.

I think I love you, you think, the idea swirling in your head in the form of different colors behind your eyelids. When you open them, Tom is staring at you.

"What?" you ask, worried you may have said something out loud, hands immobile on both sides of his slim waist.

"I don't know, you kinda froze for a few seconds there. You okay?"

You smile, "I'm fine." And when you kiss him, the lingering in your chest tells you exactly what you have to do.

∗

After a quick shower, you walk into the kitchen in shorts and a loose t-shirt and find Tom preparing breakfast for two. You recognize the aromas immediately. He's making the scramble that won him the breakfast cook-off, this cocky little bastard.

"Is it just me, or is someone feeling himself this morning?"

"I am feeling pretty well, thanks," he croons, turning his head to gaze over his shoulder. All you see is the cute scrunch of his nose. "How about you, ready for a princess's brekkie?"

"Smells delicious."

"I'm almost done. You can get the plates, if you want."

"Not very princessy, is it?" you joke, leaning to bite his earlobe, a hand draped softly on the small of his back. He pushes into the touch somehow, but you turn towards the cupboards before you can be really sure.

As you grab two plates and two mugs, you take this moment to ask him a question that had come to mind during your shower just now. Something that popped into your head out of nowhere.

"You remember yesterday—"

"Oh yeah, I remember yesterday..." He smirks.

"Not that!" You lift your heel to kick him lightly in that cute little bum he has under his shorts. Tom reaches back with a hand pretending to grab it. "During the party still, when Tuwaine came over to us. He said congratulations, you said Harrison was full of shit... What was that about?"

"Erm, yeah, I remember that," he says with a little sigh. The silence lasts for a few moments as you distribute the plates and forks, and Tom turns off the stove while still stirring the pan. "The Harries were pissing me off earlier, that's what it was."

"What were they saying?"

"It was, like... so we walked into the party, right?" You nod, munching on a leftover piece of carrot Tom didn't use in his recipe. "And the first thing that dickhead asked me was if we were on a date."

"A date?"

"I know! Can't imagine where he got that idea from," Tom scoffs.

You watch him start to serve a generous portion onto each plate and at his silent signal, you sit down in your spot.

"Why would he think that, though?"

"Apparently because our outfits matched," Tom says with a loud puff of breath as he sits down next to you.

"Hm." You chew on that tiny piece of carrot longer than it should be physically necessary just so you won't have to speak. Who knows what will blurt out of your mouth now that your brain is running countless miles an hour.

Instead you watch him grab a fork and spin it on his fingers, as he adds, "I thought, uh, since we were renting that dress, I might as well do something nice. And it was only the cufflinks anyway, so I told him to fuck off. No idea what he was implying was so special about it."

You do remember his cufflinks last night. Namely you remember how much of a surprise it was when he came strolling into your room while you were putting on your jewelry and asked your help to clip them on.

"They did look dashing on you," you compliment so as to draw your mind away from what you were thinking about. That while you were putting on the cufflinks, you were breathing onto the base of his neck, fingers fumbling with each cuff as he breathed over your face as well.

"Aww, thanks."

You send him an honest smile. "You're welcome."

"Can you imagine though?" Tom says within a laugh as you fill both tea cups with smoking water from the kettle. You have to keep busy, otherwise your thoughts will wander faster than you can keep up.

"Me taking you out on a date without asking you first?" Tom laughs. "How rude."

You laugh at him through your teeth, putting down the kettle to pat his forearm. "Damn right, it would've been very rude." Taking a deep breath, because for some reason your heart is racing inside, you ask, "Were we... on a date, though?"

Tom looks inconspicuous, withdrawn into himself, adding milk to his tea with his face calm and quiet like the sky before a storm.

"I dunno," he swallows. His eyes find yours now and they're empty as far as you can tell. "Would you like us to have been on a date?"

"What a loaded question, champ." You pretend to laugh, but really you're about to die inside from the truth you cannot distinguish in his gaze. "Would you?"

He smiles while sipping from his mug. There's a bit of a frown now, twisting his messy eyebrow into an even smaller line. When he looks up, Tom cradles the back of your hand where it's resting on the table.

"It would have been a good one, I know that. Ended with a hell of a bang."

"Cheeky bastard." You chuckle. The tension in your chest doesn't subside, however. After all, if that's the point he was trying to make, it's too far off from what you had planned to tell him. You might need a different plan, a less direct approach to let him know everything you've been going through until now.

You have to tell him today, you're too filled with agony to wait another day, but you need the perfect moment, the perfect excuse for the words to come out. You don't want him to associate whatever you feel with the fact that you're talking about last night in these terms. No matter how amazing the sex was, like it always is, everything is so much more than just that. It's the ache when he leaves, the sunlight when he smiles, suffocating you every hour of every day.

"Thank you by the way," he says through his small mouthful of food. He swallows with his eyes on you, and you for once cannot take your eyes off of his throat. His Adam's apple bobbing up and down when he drinks tea, his whole neck popping full of veins when he stretches to get a napkin from the other side of the table.

You look back up at his eyes and find them glinting, tender. He leans forward into a kiss, but you move at the same time to drink some tea because your throat is too dry at this point and his lips collide with your cheek.

Tom hums and holds your chin in his hand, softly, rubbing his nose in a circle around yours, and when you smooch your mouth onto his, the dam in your mind breaches and lets all the thoughts from yesterday flood right back out.

This is it. You have to tell him.

"Tom?"

"Hm?"

"I, uh," you start, unsure of how to sort through the messy current of thoughts and words inside your head. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something, but, um—"

"This sounds serious. Should I be worried?" he muses, but you pay him no mind. You do smile in response, drinking some more.

"No—" you say, "I dunno." Tom's eyes go wide and he takes another bite, possibly to keep his mouth busy and give you a moment to say what you think you want to say. You can't really make up your mind, but giving it to him straight is not an option. It would be a little painful to go straight to the point and read the disappointment in his face. So you take a longer route.

"You know when you, um, you feel a certain way, and then you think you start to feel a different way, and you don't know how you got from one to the other?"

Tom tilts his head, inquisitively, torso twisted so he'll stay faced to you. "You can feel a lot of different ways about pretty much everything. So." He pauses to take a small piece of tomato from the plate. Before he eats it, he asks, "Can you narrow it down a little?"

You forage through your head to try and come up with something that hints at what you want to say without actually saying it yet. "You know, when you, like, know someone a certain way—"

"So we're talking about people then?"

"Yeah, that's it," you take a breath in, "but then you, like, you start seeing them in a different way, but you fear that the second way may ruin the first way? So how does it, I mean, how do you make that transition without accidentally fucking up something you already appreciate?"

What you're saying doesn't actually make sense to you, they're just words floating around in your head and you're grabbing them at random and throwing them together into long-winded sentences. Tom looks very confused too, a frown twisting his forehead as he drinks more tea.

Before he asks anything else, you take the first metaphor that comes to your head, using him as an example so he doesn't realize you're talking about yourself. "Say, you're friends with someone. There's group outings, nights out and nights in, day after day after day. Then a few weeks into that, you kind of want to know one of those friends in a closer, more personal way. Something that's more than just... hanging out, or whatever it is that you have going on since it has to be all cordial and respectful of your other friends and so on."

"Mhmm." Tom takes the last forkful off his plate and keeps staring at you, giving you room to speak. His eyes are covered with a puzzled haze. You understand why because you're babbling about friendly outings and you're not even sure of what you're trying to say anymore.

You sigh. "How would that... work? If at all."

After you're finished — well, sort of, eh — you sit there with an elbow on the table and your mouth picking out stray pieces of skin from your thumb.

Tom gapes at you, swallowing his food, drinking tea, wiping his lips with the napkin. Meanwhile, his eyes are very wide, barely blinking. "I don't— I mean, do you like someone you—"

"Everyone always says it's a bad idea, a romance with someone you already have in your life in a different scale, right?" you plough on, trying to decode your own speech. "Which makes sense because you still have to see them every day, or every other day, it doesn't matter, and at the same time you also have to face your friends —who are their friends as well— and it's kind of weird to change that dynamic, innit?"

"Well," Tom swallows, "if you're asking me, I think friendship can evolve into more without much of a fuss. If both really want to, that is."

You take a deep breath almost in desperation, but at the sight of Tom starting to speak again, you add, "What if it doesn't work out? You're left a mess, the other person might be too, or not, who knows, it depends on a plethora of factors that you have absolutely no control over. So then what, your friends keep asking you about them and you still don't really know if the other person feels the same way—"

"Y/n—"

"Or even if they do feel the same way, it's still odd, right? Things could get fucked up. A whole friendship could get fucked up. And—"

"Y/n!"

"What?" You blink.

"You're not making any sense," Tom says, sitting down at last. "Are you asking me for advice or just— y'know, talking it out?"

"I... don't know?" You sigh. It's pointless right now. You either have to start over, or give up.

When you glance at Tom, you realize he's sitting very straight in the chair, hands folded in front of his chest. He moves one to your shoulder and says in a low voice, "Then I'm afraid I won't be able to help you, if you don't know. But I can listen if you have anything else to say."

Tom's face is much closer than you expected. He licks his lips smoothly, eyes finding yours as you get caught staring at his mouth.

You wonder if he burns on the inside like you are, if his heart sounds as fast and irregular as yours. You gulp down your crazy heartbeat, certain that Tom can see it from where he's sitting. You're on that roller-coaster all over again, the car way up top, ready to plummet into the abyss, but when you look closer, there are no tracks. Nothing to grab on if you open your heart, no certainty of hearing I love you too in return.

"Do you... love this person?" he asks slowly, retrieving his hand back to his lap.

"I do, I do." You nod along with your words.

Tom smiles, sadly you think. "Then whoever they are, I know they'll be delighted to have you in their life as more than just a friend."

As you're leaning closer and reaching for his hand to say that it's him, Tom jumps up from his seat and stumbles through his words. "I need the loo, but I, uh, I'll be right back, okay? Don't, um, don't go anywhere?" He walks behind your chair and leaves a kiss on the top of your head, letting it linger before he takes off with big, furious steps.

"Wait— no, Tom, please wait, it's you," you rush to say, getting up as well, but by the time you've twisted on your feet to face the door, he's already closing it behind himself.

"It's you," you repeat in a meek voice, fifty percent sure that he can no longer hear you. One hundred percent remorseful that you didn't start this whole discussion with those two words. Rushing to the door, you open it but Tom is nowhere to be seen.

The bathroom door bangs in the distance.

~ ⛳ ~