SIX: Tip of the Tongue (t) || contains nsfw material!
--
Tom knows he's fucked the second he walks into the living room and sees you rolling around on the carpet with Tessa, your giggles mixing with her excited yipping barks. You're wrestling over a long purple chew-toy, and Tom watches with wide eyes as you play around, your free hand moving all over Tess and paying attention to the thrilled dog. Seeing his dog bonding so well with you does something to him.
You do something to him.
"Oh, hey. Didn't see you there." You're laying out across now the carpet, legs outstretched and arms settled at your sides. As you slowly pant for breath, you run a few fingers through your messy hair, shooting Tom a loose grin. "You alright, Tom?"
Tom swallows. "Yes," he responds, his voice quick. He shakes himself from his daze, trying to look as normal as possible as he finally walks away from the doorway and into the living room. Tessa totters over to him, and he lets her nuzzle into the palm of his hand. "She's going to miss you," Tom finds himself saying, eyes flickering up to meet yours. "I can't believe your trip is almost over."
Sadness crosses your face, and Tom doesn't like the way it clings to your features.
"Can I take her out?" You question, blinking up at him with wide, soft eyes. "Just one last time before my flight tomorrow."
Tom nods. "'Course." He stands up, stretching slightly. "I'll go get the lead."
It's with warmth in his gaze that Tom watches you put on Tessa's collar and lead, and then fight your way into a pair of boots and a large raincoat. He makes light conversation as he watches you get ready to go out, shooting down your offer for him to accompany him. It makes his heart pang when Tess follows you obediently down the drive-way, her tail wagging happily - just like it's been panging, repeatedly, for the entire duration of your visit.
Tom is not sure when his feelings towards you started to change, but as you close the front gate behind you and throw him back a cheerful wave with a large, lovely smile on your face, he knows he's a goner.
"Shit." Tom presses his hands into his forehead as he stomps back into the house, kicking the door shut behind him. "Shit, shit, shit-"
"Oi, oi, oi." Harrison's there, poking his head into the porch. "What's wrong?"
Tom raises his head, shrugging aimlessly. "I'm fucked, mate."
Before diving into it, Harrison plies Tom with a nice hot mug of tea, and they set up camp around the kitchen table. As Tom watches the steam curl off the hot liquid, he sighs.
"Y/N's going home tomorrow," Tom starts. "She's leaving."
"Yes."
"I don't want her to go."
"Why?"
Tom groans. "I don't know." It's so frustrating. Every time he thinks he's figured out the name of the emotion he's feeling, it slips away. "I'm confused, Haz," he whines. He can feel his lip aching as it rolls into a pout.
Harrison kicks him under the table, causing Tom to yelp. "Talk to her about it, idiot," he mutters. His blue eyes seem to scorch Tom's soul. "Eh? You guys are shitat communicating, and a lot of things might've changed between you, but that's definitely not one of them." He has a knowing look in his eye.
"Has she said something to you?"
Harrison's cheeks warm to a soft, discreet pink. "I'm not at liberty to say."
"Harrison."
"Tom." Harrison glares at him, and Tom sulks. "I think you know exactly what you're feeling, you know exactly why you're going to miss her, and you know exactly why you don't want her to go. You're just scared."
Tom's lips curve into a sour frown, and he remains silent.
"Talk to her, div." Harrison stands from the table and reaches out to pat Tom's shoulder. His eyes shine with reassurance. "The only way you could fuck things up is by keeping her in the dark."
As he waits for you to get back from your walk, Tom takes a long, hard look at himself. He wasn't lying to Harrison - he is confused. His brain is a complicated mess of emotions and experiences that ache too much to pick apart, but he knows he has to try - for your sake.
It used to be simple. Back before this whole thing started, Tom knew exactly where he stood - opposite you, spitting out half-assed insults he never really believed, volleying back and forth with someone real. His line of work and the industry you both work in is full of lies, facades and characters, and what he's always liked about you is how openly, achingly honest you've been with him. Yes, it used to hurt him when you'd run into one another at events and hurl insults against one another, but it was the most real part of the evenings. You were real - and that's always struck him differently.
And, of course, there was also your chemistry. That hot, burning desire Tom would get, lighting up like a fiery rod down his spine whenever his eyes set on you. He's almost certain it was all linked to the insults, and the anger, and the resentment - but he would look at you, at one of those shows, and he'd feel attracted to you. It made it all burn brighter - the contrast of the anger and the resentment versus his desire to sweep you nearer and pounce. Back then, he'd used to lie awake at night imagining what it'd be like to cross the line between enemies and something more. He'd wanted it - badly - whether or not he'd admitted it at the time.
But now... Now, it's different. It's so different that Tom can barely recognise you, because somewhere between signing the contract and today, you've done a complete 180. The person who just left his house with Tessa following happily behind her is not the same person Tom had kissed at the Oscars After-Party, and whilst he'd like to think this is all on you, it's not. Tom knows he's acted differently around you, too.
Somewhere between then and now, Tom has stopped hating you. It was not overnight, and he still feels anger, sometimes, when he thinks about your history and all the moves you've made against him, but for the most part that has faded to the background. Something else has overpowered the years of irritation, something that might've been simmering away beneath it all along, and now when he looks at you, he feels warmth. Warmth that spreads through his chest and fills him up with joy, and lights him up from the inside out.
He doesn't know how to process it. He doesn't want to acknowledge it. Tom is fighting with his own heart, but he can't deny that his view of you has shifted, and now, instead of wanting to get as far as possible away from you, the idea of being without you again makes his mood plummet.
He is fucked.
There's the loud noise of the front door opening and closing, and Tom hears you stagger in, calling out a noisy, "Hey!"
"Hi." Through the open doorway, Tom watches as you slide off your boots and jacket, a massive grin on your face. "How was it?" He asks.
You throw him a wide smile and step closer. "Got soaked," you state, gesturing wildly at your dripping hair, "Tess also decided that it was a really good idea to drag me through a muddy puddle, but it's okay." You draw closer and Tom can make out flecks of mud sticking to your hands and face. "Have you got any spare towels? I don't want to get your nice ones muddy."
Tom hums, standing from the table. His eyes catch on his mug of tea, half-full, and he hands it over to you. "I'll find you some," he says, pressing the cup into your hands. They shake a little as his fingers brush against yours. "Drink that if you want. You look cold."
"Oh, uh, thanks." Your eyebrows shoot up into confused appreciation, and before Tom turns around to go upstairs, he receives another of your signature, lovely shy smiles.
Tom's heart races in his chest as he climbs the stairs and starts to rummage through the cupboard at the top of it. It's messy, full of all the junk and random things that don't fit anywhere else around his house, but at the back, he finds a few old towels. He decides to put them in the guest bathroom for you, and so Tom carefully walks into it and spends a few minutes folding up the towels, trying to decide how best to present them for you. He can't decide if he wants to roll them up, or fold them into a neat square, or attempt a triangle, or-
"Oh, you found some towels, great."
Tom startles when he hears your voice and turns around to see you leaning up against the doorframe, a pile of fresh clothes in your hands. You walk into the bathroom, placing them down on the counter before lingering at his side, your eyes finding his out.
"Yeah, yeah," Tom grunts, rocking back on his feet. You smell of worn perfume and wet dog, but he likes it. "I hope they'll work."
You give him a perplexed look, nodding. "I'm sure they'll be fine." You gesture at yourself. "I just didn't want to get them all dirty. I'm sort of a mess."
"A cute mess, though."
Oh god, did he say that out loud-
"Thanks?" You're biting at your lip, and Tom suddenly realises how close together you're standing. You've got him backed up against the counter, and you're standing directly in front of him, your face lingering near his. From this distance, he can make out every defining feature of your face, and Tom enjoys studying it. "You're not too bad yourself."
Tom gulps. Your mutual dislike might not remain, but that sizzling tension between you both has most certainly lingered on.
"Thanks, love." He watches as your eyes seem to darken a shade at the pet name. "You know how to use the shower, yeah?"
You blink at him, the tip of your nose scrunching up. "I've been here three weeks, Tom, I think you'd know if I hadn't figured it out." Your voice is light, teasing. "Why, are you offering to help me out?"
Tom's chest feels tight, and he really can't tell if you're joking or being serious. He's caught on to a few of your signals, recently, but he's been unsure of whether or not they were actually signals. Like, the biting of your lip whenever you're near him, and the spontaneous, yet comfortable hand-holding, even when it's just the two of you. Tom hasn't allowed himself to read into it too deeply - until now.
"I mean, I'd never turn down an opportunity like that, Y/N," Tom returns. He keeps his voice light - flirty, but still humorous enough so you can back out of it at any moment. He doesn't want to box you in, and he doesn't want to make you feel uncomfortable.
Your breath is almost on his face, and Tom feels your hands seek out his waist. Your fingers rest comfortably on his hips, and despite the fact that you've touched him plenty of times before, it feels like he's just been connected to a live wire.
For a moment, Tom thinks this is it - the tension and the pent-up frustrations are going to spill over. He can feel it in the air - hot and electric, swirling with misunderstood passion and excitement - and his eyes even flutter shut in anticipation of getting your sweet, sweet mouth on his. But then...
"Oi, Tom! Come here a sec? I can't find the bloody kale!"
And just like that, the mood's spoiled. Tom watches as you slip away, something like embarrassment crossing your face as you pull back your hands and cross them over your chest, your eyes flickering away from his. He feels something cold wrap around his heart, and Tom has to bite back a curse at Harrison's ill timing.
"I'll just go and, uh, yeah," he mutters. Tom pauses in the doorway, regret pinching at his face until he turns to give you a tight smile. "Have a nice shower, darling."
You nod slowly, swallowing so prominently that it's visible to him.
"Thanks, Tom."
---
A few hours later, Harrison conveniently decides he wants to spend a night at home with his parents and leaves Tom alone with you for your final evening in London. You watch a film together, making light conversation throughout it all, and Tom watches as your eyes light up and you scurry off, running into the cloakroom to dig through a bag you'd bought earlier. When you reappear, Tom's eyebrows pull into confusion as he sees you holding a packet of pens, your shoes, and his shoes.
"What are you doing?" He puzzles, watching as you sit on the other side of his sofa. Your position mirrors his - both of you sitting up with your backs against the armrests and your legs stretched out in front of you. Your feet are near his face, and he chuckles as he notices your Spider-Man socks.
"Bought some fabric pens," you explain, tossing Tom a few pens. "I thought we could do some art." Next, you pass him your shoes.
About a week ago, you'd dragged Tom into the centre of London to buy him some more t-shirts. On the trip, you'd both decided to buy some matching, white Converse. At the time, Tom hadn't understood your insistence to get such plain pairs, but now...
"Wait, you want me to customise yours?"
"Yeah. I'll do yours."
Tom's lips split into a soft o. "That's..." So fucking cute.
"Probably really lame, I know. I just thought- you know, it might be a nice touch." You're looking away nervously, fiddling with the laces of his shoes. "Forget about it, actually. This was probably a stupid idea-"
"No." Tom shakes his head, his eyes wide. "That's a- a really nice idea, Y/N. I'm not exactly the best when it comes to artistic things, but I'll try my best." His heart pangs again as he watches your eyes light up with relief.
"Okay," you mumble, smiling timidly. "Now we can be, like, a proper cute couple."
Tom uncaps the lid of his pen and decides to start off small - drawing a bold spiderweb over the top of your left shoe.
"We're quite a good couple, I think," he muses, concentrating mostly on the shoe. "No one's suspected a thing."
"Weird, isn't it?" You say, voice soft. The living room is warm and quiet, and Tom finds himself relaxing the longer you spend together. You glance up to meet his eyes. "It's like everyone saw it coming."
Tom can't help but hum in agreement. "Yeah," he says, nodding. "No one was surprised, which confused me, because... Well, you know." He can feel a warmth lick at his cheeks.
"I know what?"
Tom bites his lip. "Well, we haven't always gotten along, if you'd forgotten, Y/N," he says, trying his best to sound nice. He doesn't want to misstep and trigger an argument. "We used to hate each other."
You hum, drawing a large triangle on the side of one of Tom's shoes. "I never really hated you," you say absently. "You just annoyed me. Mr Perfect Tom Holland, with the BAFTA." You break off to chuckle, rolling your eyes. "I can be petty."
"So can I," Tom says. "We're quite similar. I think that's why we clashed so much." There's more to be said - more you need to work through and discuss, but Tom doesn't want to push his luck. When you look back at him, he feels the breath leave his lungs. Your eyes... they're hypnotising. "It's- it's good that everyone believes us now, but it'll be weird when we... When we break up."
You suck in a breath, your eyes widening. "I don't really want to think about that," you mutter, causing Tom to raise his brows. There's something on your face, and it looks a lot like the emotions that run through Tom's chest every time he thinks about your arrangement ending.
"Why?" He asks softly.
You avert your eyes. "I'm sort of fond of you, Holland," you mutter. "You can be a good friend, I guess." You clear your throat, lengthening your spine as you blink a few times. "But I suppose it's for the best. I haven't been able to sleep with anyone since this whole thing started."
Tom chuckles, a spike of something like jealousy impaling itself in his chest. "Oh, I see how it is," he jokes, nudging your knee with his foot.
You only roll your eyes. "Shut it. I know you miss sex, too. It's been, what, three months? Four?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah," he agrees. Tom starts to work on your other shoe, deciding to draw some large, wobbly love hearts. "You get used to it, though, after a while. Lonely nights are part of the job."
"They still suck."
Tom hums and then puts the cap on his pen, finished with his design. He sits back and watches as you furrow your eyebrows and colour in a shape. You've got your tongue pulled between your teeth, and Tom's mind is still swirling around sex, and he can't stop himself from saying-
"You know, you're quite a good kisser, Y/N."
Immediately you stop drawing.
"What?" Your eyes dance with amusement, and Tom watches as you carefully put the cap back on the pen.
"You're good at kissing," Tom repeats, with slightly less conviction now his brain has had time to catch up with his big mouth.
"And you expected me to be bad?"
"No. No, no-" Tom breaks off, scratching at his neck. "I didn't know what to expect."
"I'm good at a lot of things, Tom." Your tongue swipes out across your lower lip, and you're staring at him with so many layers to your gaze that Tom can't quite decipher your intentions. You sit forward, leaning closer, and you show off his shoes. "See. I'm an artist as well as a BAFTA-nominated actress."
Tom returns your shoes, and he takes his back from you. He brushes his thumbs over the fabric, eyes drawing in the material and the way you've drawn a collection of cute pictures and shapes: hearts, lightning bolts, stars - even a Spider-Man mask.
"Huh," he mutters, looking up at you. "Very nice."
"What's this?" You ask him, pointing at a shape that Tom had drawn. He can't quite see what you're looking at, so with a grunt, Tom pushes himself up the sofa, falling onto his knees as he crawls towards you. He's not sure if he's imagining it, but it seems as though you're moving the shoe further away from him each time he inches closer, almost like you're coaxing him forwards.
"Um, us?" Tom tries, feeling his face blush. You're pointing at two smudged stick-figures that he'd drawn holding hands. "Or just a couple. It's open for interpretation."
You hum, and with shaky hands, you pick up both pairs of shoes and place them on the ground. It leaves Tom in an awkward position because now he's kneeling on the sofa, his face hovering in front of yours. He's got a hand on either side of your figure, and he's... He's close. He's really close. He's almost on top of you.
"Please don't take this the wrong way, Tom, but I don't think you should give up the day job." Your grin is contagious, and Tom finds himself smiling at you. He tenses as you reach out, running a hand over his arm before settling it on his shoulder. "I'll miss you when I'm gone," you admit, voice a little softer. You shuffle around, lying down properly against the sofa with your head on the cushions, and Tom mirrors his position, shuffling until he's suspended above you, almost planking over you. It's very close - very intimate - but you're guiding him with your hand, and you don't seem to mind when Tom brings a hand up to cup your face instinctively.
"I'll miss you too." He's got his fingertips softly rolling over your cheekbone, learning the curves of your face. Tom can smell the peppermint on your breath, and he feels you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him nearer. "I've grown quite fond of you, love."
Tom can feel it. Feel it on the tip of his tongue. This isn't fake to me, anymore. I don't want you to go. I don't want this to end in three months. It's just there - ready to roll off, but then...
Then, you kiss him, and Tom's mind goes blank.
He's shocked at first, eyes widening before they reflexively flutter shut. His grip on your cheek tightens as he pushes back against you, feeling your mouth, warm and gentle, moving so lovingly over his that it makes him feel weak. Tom kisses you back with equal fervour, cradling you close, feeling you tugging at the roots of his hair to bring him nearer.
It's breathtaking and dizzying, and when you pull back, he doesn't know how to take it.
"If we- if we both miss sex," you start, your voice a raspy mutter, "How about we sort that out together?"
Tom feels his heart sink. Was that kiss just because you miss being close to someone, too?
"What, like, a hookup?" He asks, feeling a deep crease form between his brows.
"Yeah." You're gnawing over your lower lip, looking at him with wide, suggestive eyes. "A one night stand, Tom." You nudge at his shoulder, wiggling your eyebrows. "You can't deny we've always had a bit of chemistry. Why not burn through it, eh? Kill two birds with one stone."
Every word you speak feels like a shot to his heart, but Tom finds himself nodding.
"No strings, yeah?" He asks, wanting to be entirely clear of your feelings. The ease in which you'd suggested it and the shallow lust in your eyes implies as much.
"No strings," you confirm, voice wavering. You clear your throat. "Maybe this'll help us seem more convincing, anyway. Like a real couple."
Tom releases a tight breath and then decides to pull back and stand from the sofa. For a moment, he lingers, looking down at you and the curious expression on your face, and he wonders if it's the best idea to agree to do this. He knows it's going to muddle his heart - twist it into knots, and deepen that connection he already feels towards you - and he knows somewhere, deep down, that maybe he's just setting himself up for heartbreak by having you like this.
But Tom also knows that you have become his greatest weakness, and he can't deny you. Not when you stand up and kiss his cheek and squeeze his hand. Tom wants you - in any way, and whichever form you'll allow, and if it kills him tomorrow, so be it. He'd willingly shatter his heart for one night wrapped up in you.
---
It escalates quickly. One moment you're both in the living room, the next you're pushing Tom down onto the mattress in his room and climbing over him, both of your shirts thrown away. You run your hands down the front of Tom's chest, following the curves of his muscles with your fingertips, and then you lean in and kiss each of his pecs, giggling softly.
"You're ripped, Tom," you admire, eyeing him with lust in your gaze. Tom's got his hands on your waist, and he uses his grip to push you down against his core, groaning softly as the weight presses to his cock. "Mr Muscle Man."
Tom rolls his eyes at your antics, and he uses his grip on your sides to pull you in. Your lips collide in a messy kiss, full of teeth and tongue and excitement, and you shift around on top of him, working him up. Tom can feel the warmth of your wet cunt pressing into your panties, transferring through his boxers to his cock, and it makes him twitch.
"You're so fucking hot," Tom murmurs, cradling the back of your head with a hand. He sits up and you start to grind down against him, the two of you dry humping as he attaches his lips to your neck. He's been wondering, for weeks now, what it'd be like to mark you up, and now he seizes this opportunity. The noises that slip past your lips as he sucks and bites over the column of your throat make him grunt, too, and it encourages him to push up against you. As the temperature in the air rises, you both grow frazzled.
"How are you more fit than I'd imagined," he hears you mutter, all whilst your hands run over his back.
"You've imagined this before?" He returns, pulling away from you to stare. His lips throb slightly, and his chest bursts with enjoyment as his eyes take in the marks he's left across your neck. You nod, biting your puffy lower lip.
"Once or twice." You eye him up. "Haven't you?"
Tom raises an eyebrow. "Yes." He lets his hands wander to the clasp of your bra. "We usually aren't wearing so many clothes when I've imagined it, though."
"Smooth, Holland," you murmur. Your tongue slips out to wet your lower lip. "Better sort that out, then."
From there, it's all limbs and discarded underwear, your mouths glued together. Tom slips two fingers between your wet folds as you start to pump his cock, and he's cursing as he eases them into your hot, silky cunt. He works you open as you tease him, rolling the pad of your thumb over his weepy tip and drawing loud, guttural groans up his throat. He can't believe how good it feels to have your hands all over him - your mouth caressing him, holding him. Part of him doesn't want it to end, but then you're nibbling at his ear, and saying, "So are you going to fuck me, Tom?" And he knows he can't possibly wait any longer.
"How'd you want it?" He asks, rolling away from you to rummage through his drawers for a condom. His hands are shaky, wet with your arousal, and he has to dry his fingers off before he's able to rip open the foil packet and fix himself. When he looks up, you're laying out across the bed, a teasing smirk on your lips, and shit, you might just be the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.
"I don't mind," you say. Tom moves back to the bed, and he lets you straddle his thighs, your slit falling around his cock. He groans as you grind down over him, teasing him, but your mouth swallows the noise. "I just want you." It affects him more than he'd like to admit, but before he can try to form a legible response, you control the situation by grasping his shaft in your hand and kissing his cheek. "Are you ready?" You check, pausing all movements.
Tom nods. "Yes," he manages. He watches as you slowly settle over his length, your head rolling to rest against his shoulder as you come together, joining completely, finally. "Fuck, darling." His voice is raspy, and he feels you clench around him. "So fucking perfect."
For a few moments, you pause, and Tom feels you leave a few kisses to his shoulder.
"You've got a very dirty mouth, Tom," he hears you say. He can almost feel the smile on your lips as you press your face into his neck. "Is this how you speak to everyone you sleep with?"
You start to move, slowly working yourself up and down his length, and Tom's hands wrap around your hips. He's breathless as he mutters out an absent, "You're not like everyone else," but he doesn't think you hear it.
Together you find a rhythm, and Tom feels like he's on cloud nine. You're gripping at him - grabbing handfuls of his hair, kissing him, bouncing over him, and he's returning every action with enthusiasm. You're leading it for a while, but then you grab at his arm and give him wide, pleading eyes, and say, "Flip over?"
Tom presses you into the mattress, and he picks up the speed. One of your hands skates between your bodies to nudge your clit, and the other wraps around Tom's back, holding him near. Tom's face feels hot and red, and his jaw is clenching, but fuck, you feel like paradise around him, and he's never felt this alive before.
"Best girl," he mutters, his mind spinning. He can feel himself nearing the edge, and with the way you're writhing and spontaneously clenching around him, he knows you are, too. "Fuck, you're so perfect." Briefly, his lips fall across your face, finding your mouth in a sloppy kiss. "My best girl, aren't you?"
You moan in response, and Tom feels you twitch. "Yes," you respond, breathless. Your face is pinched, your eyes fluttering shut. "Yours."
Tom loses it, spilling into the condom with a few curses. He feels you tighten around him as you climax a few moments later, and his arms give out, Tom's sweaty forehead collapsing into the crook of your neck. He continues to thrust into you until both of you are well and truly spent, at which point Tom pulls out and slumps against you completely, his chest heaving.
It's quiet for a while, and if he wasn't so comfortable resting against your warm skin, Tom would move. But you've got both hands wrapped around him, your fingertips stroking comfortingly through his hair, and every once in a while you kiss his cheek, too. He feels full. Content. Blissed out.
Tom feels the opposite of how he should, given this is supposed to be a one-night stand.
"Do you want some water?" He asks, finally pulling away from you. Tom flops down on the mattress beside you, his back sinking into the bed as he looks at you. You're gnawing your lower lip, suddenly looking nervous.
"I, uh." Your voice falters, and you look at him with hesitation in your eyes. Tom gets the feeling you're about to say something important. "I..."
Your gaze disengages, and Tom reaches out to pick up your hand, his eyes widening with concern. "Y/N?"
You clear your throat. "I'll go get the water," you say, voice a little more focused. You start to sit up, only to find yourself snagged on Tom's hand.
"I can get the water," Tom says, sitting up too. He brushes his thumb over the back of your palm. He doesn't like the woozy, distant look on your face. "Really, Y/N. Lie down. You don't look so good."
You shake him off, managing a tight smile. "I'm fine," you say. "I just... Just realised something." Before Tom can question you, you're dropping his hand and standing up. He watches as you quickly pull on your clothes. "Do you want anything else or just the water?"
He almost, almost, says 'you', but even in his post-sex haze, Tom knows that'd be too much.
"Just the water, thanks."
As the door shuts behind you, Tom feels uneasy. He busies himself dealing with the mess and the condom whilst you're away from him, his brain spinning around. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees your face, feels your hands ghosting all over him, and it sends him spiralling.
This was a lot easier when he hated you.
Tom's back in a pair of sweats by the time you reappear, two glasses of water in hand. You look better - your hair tidier, lips slightly less swollen, but he doesn't miss the way your eyes are red and bloodshot.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Tom asks, his fingers momentarily knocking against yours as you pass back the glass.
"Yes."
You surprise him by settling into bed beside him, resting up against the headboard as you stare down at the water. After a moment, you startle, looking up to him with a nervous smile on your face.
"Thanks, Tom," you add. Your voice is warm, genuine. "I had fun."
Tom drains the glass and puts it down. "So did I." When you wave around your empty glass, he stacks it too on the bedside table. Instinctively, he flicks off the lamp too, dousing the room in darkness. Only once he's turning around to fix his pillows does he realise he's basically implied you're going to stay the night with him - which really, is a violation of the number one rule of hookup culture. "Uh, what time is your flight tomorrow?" He fumbles, trying to skip past his blunder.
You mirror his actions, fixing the pillow behind you before laying down beside Tom, sinking into his bed. You face him on your side, and despite the darkness, Tom can make out the lines of your face, just about see the loose imprint of a smile.
"11am." You're quiet for a moment. "Are you... Are you around in the morning?"
Tom hums. "Yeah." He swallows. "Do you want me to drop you off?"
"Yes, please. That'd be really nice."
"Alright." Tom rustles around beneath the sheets, and his hand knocks against yours. He freezes at the touch, but the tension leaves him when he feels you take his hand and link your fingers together. "Do you need anything else tonight?"
You're both whispering now, shrouded by darkness and her veil of mystery. Everything feels a little safer, under the cover of the night.
"Hold me?"
Tom's glad it's dark so you can't see the way his cheeks burst into flames.
"Of course."
You move closer to him, rolling over so your back is against his front, and Tom wraps his arms around your torso. Your hair smells of honey and strawberries, and it feels soft against his cheek. You're warm - so lovely, so gentle, and Tom doesn't want this night to end.
"Thanks." You shuffle around, briefly twisting back to press a kiss to his cheek, and when you turn over again, Tom considers it.
For a brief, shocking second, Tom wonders if you feel something deeper for him, too. He wonders if it really is one-sided. You've both seemed to move from enemies to friends together - why has he never considered that you, too, might feel something deeper stirring in your heart. Why hasn't he ever considered the possibility that this might not have to end?
"Think you're the best one night stand I've ever had," you mutter, voice tired. "Who else would hug me like this?"
Tom sucks in a deep breath, feeling his heart twist painfully. And that is why he'd never considered it - so he couldn't risk getting his hopes crushed so easily.
"It's nice to hug you," Tom mutters. He tries not to make it too obvious that you've just reached into his chest and wrapped your fist around his heart. "Goodnight, Y/N."
You hum, snuggling further against him. "Night, Tom. Sweet dreams."