You are dragged to a dance club only to meet a nice Cambridge boy who likes dancing. You didn’t know how much one dance would change your life.
A Tom Hiddleston X Reader Fan Fiction
Pure and Utter Smut | Adult Themes
You fetch your phone from the kitchen counter, dialing up your physician. You hear the water start up in the bath. Returning to your room, you look in on what Tom is up to. You are treated to a prime view of his backside. He obviously works out. He’s broad around the chest, lean and long at the waist, well-toned and muscled, all set on long runner’s legs. He catches sight of you watching him in the mirror and strikes a pose that makes you smile despite your embarrassment at being caught ogling him. You close your phone and set it on the nearest bookshelf.
Tom finishes adjusting the water on the shower and walks over to you. “I thought I’d clean up a bit. I hope that is alright.”
“I need to get cleaned up myself.”
“May I clean you?”
“Like last night?”
“Mmm, yes. May I?”
“Perhaps there is an instrument I’d be good at playing. I’d like to try it.” Your eyes glance down to where he’s palming his growing erection.
Tom gulps, “Do you swallow too?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
He’s unconsciously been stroking himself during this exchange. He pauses at your matter of fact question, suddenly curious about how far you could take his cock in your mouth. You reach for his hand and pull him into the shower with you, finding the spray to be pleasantly hot. You kneel in from of him, prompting him to look down. “Worship my cock with your mouth,” he demands in a husky voice. Cupping his balls in your hand, you roll them around as you lick the crown of his penis.
Taking the head between your lips, you hear a hiss of indrawn breath. His testicles draw up and relax again. You smile at his response envelop him in the warm, wet recess of your mouth. He continues to watch you as you minister to his cock, more and more of it disappearing between your parted lips, your mouth widening to accommodate his girth. You pause, as you breathe around him. Adjusting slightly, you find you can take more, the tip slipping into your throat. Your tongue flexes and undulates on his underside as you learn how to make him groan, growl, and moan. You move so that he nearly slips free, but then rapidly engulf his whole length, hollowing your cheeks as you do to add a pulling suction on his shaft.
“Fucking hell,” you hear his praise in a shocked groan. It only encourages you to explore further.
You work his cock with mouth and tongue, loving the taste of him, and play with his heavy sac, teasing first one and then the other of his balls. You feel his hand on the back of your head. He doesn’t force you, but uses it to guide you, helping you to find what pleases him, as the thick veins of his penis pulse in your mouth. Your pace increases on his length with your excitement. You rasp the crown with your teeth before quickly taking him fully into your mouth and throat again. His fingers start to entangle your hair, and lightly help you pull off only to push back inside, gradually beginning taking control to fuck your mouth with firm strokes.
You relax your jaw, not fighting it. He slows when you make a slight choking sound and ensures you are okay to continue. Your hands on his thighs grip and tell him to keep going. His rhythm increases as you take his onslaught, hips snapping, ass flexing. Your nails dig hard into his flanks. He tries to pull back, pull out, withdraw, but you use your grip to hold him firm and suck his cock back in.
You slap his ass, the sound echoing off of wet skin in the enclosed shower. You play with his straining, throbbing member with hands and teeth before allowing tongue and cheeks to take over again. His ass clenches waiting to feel your palm again, while you play with and tease his balls, and take his cock deep again and again.
You slap his ass once more, pushing him deeper still. Your nose is buried into his pubic hairs at the base of his shaft. You grip his ass tight; he again feels the sting of nails. Your throat convulses. You pull nearly off, only to drive him into your throat with yet another swat to his ass. With a loud groaned “fuck,” he spurts his hot seed onto your tongue and down your throat. You swallow, greedily feasting on the sticky crème, as much as you can. Only a little dribble spills out the side of your mouth. You hold him there as he begins to soften, continuing to swallow around him, finally letting him ease free, licking the last of his cum from the tip before smiling up at him. He pulls you up into a searing kiss, tasting himself on your tongue.
He looks at you, brushing his fingers through your hair with a small smile before beginning to wash you. He lathers your hair and massages your scalp, easing the area where he tugged on your tresses. He soaps your body, not missing an inch, paying special attention to your nipples and pussy. As the water rinses off the soap, he licks and nibbles his way down your body until he kneels before you. He carefully lifts one of your legs to drape over his shoulder.
Parting your nether lips, he gazes at the plump, swollen flash. He inhales your clean, musky scent before leaning in to touch your clit with the tip of his tongue, flicking over it then sealing his lips around it in a kiss. Gently sucking the sensitive nub, he continues to tease it with his agile tongue and soft lips. You moan and your legs shake. He looks up at you, “You like my mouth on you.”
He runs his flattened tongue up and down the length of your slit, returning ever to your throbbing bud, swirling his tongue around and around it. You hear him hum in pleasure, “you’re so wet for me” He points his tongue, using it to lick deep inside, while stroking your clit with the pad of his thumb. “… and you taste divine.”
Your hands find purchase in his hair, tugging it hard as you tighten around his probing tongue. You whimper when it withdraws, but two fingers push in to replace the slick organ and begin to pump quickly inside you. His tongue returns to lavish attention on your clit. You fist his hair to hold him in place, canting your hips to expose yourself further to him. “Yes, please, more,” you moan as you quiver. He gladly complies with his ministrations. Your head drops back against the tiles as he worships your womanhood.
“Tom, yes,” you moan. You reach up to hold the shower head above you, seeking its help to hold you up when as your legs threaten to buckle from the stimulation coursing through your nerves. You feel the building coil of heat pool low in your belly and your hips buck against his face. He holds you firmly, one arm wrapped under your ass, as his fingers and tongue work their magic on you. You weep, begging him to propel you over the edge as he keeps you dancing on it.
When he bites your clit and curls his fingers, you make an inhuman keening, squirting heavily over his fingers and chin. He moves to suck your nectar from its source, drinking it down with a possessive growl. He supports you throughout your orgasm, moving up your body to hold you to his chest. You tremble in the aftermath, giggling when his sprinkling of chest hair tickles your face.
He holds you until your shaking stops. Even then, he hovers protectively as you complete your shower. He insists on helping to dry you, touching you everywhere with soft caresses and the glide of lips. He carries you to your living room and tucks you into blankets on the couch, pulling you against him to snuggle warmly on his chest with strains of La Mer playing on your sound system in the background. You feel safe and secure with Tom, as if you’ve been together forever. Perhaps soulmates were real, and Tom is yours.
The sounds from the kitchen wake you up. You’re still on the couch, covered up, but Tom isn’t. The open and closing of cabinets tell you he isn’t having much luck in finding what he’s looking for. You get up from the blanket and pad naked into the midst of a tidy mess. He’s attempting to cook breakfast in your unfamiliar kitchen. There is more out than you would need, but you know where everything it. You move to where he’s working on the stove, kiss his back, and slide around in front of him to take over his efforts, decent as they are. He watches as you smoothly maneuver around fixing this and that, heating the plates even, before sliding hot, full English onto two plates.
“I am sorry.” He says looking at the food and licking his lips.
“Sorry? Why ever for? I promised to cook breakfast. It was sweet of you to get it started for me.” You hand him a plate and slide onto a seat at the table. “I should be apologizing to you for falling asleep again and not having made breakfast sooner.”
“It’s more of a late lunch at this hour,” he points out.
“Whose fault is that?”
“Both of us, I believe.”
“I think you’re right. Do you still want to see a play with me today?”
“I’d rather stay here and play with you.”
The afternoon passes in a delightful exploration of one another’s bodies and minds. You’ve never felt so alive, desired, cherished… loved. A small part of you worries that he doesn’t mean his words, that the looks and touches are just stage dressing. Is he playing you? But, oh, how he makes you feel!
“There’s a little café around the corner. We could order out for dinner,” you suggest.
He nods with a smile and brushes a wayward lock of hair from your face. Kissing you softly, “We should get dressed before dinner becomes dessert.”
After helping one another to dress, undress, and dress again, the two of you walk down the street to the little café. It’s a small establishment, set above a grocer’s, with rooftop seating. At this hour, the place is all but vacant. With a nod and smile, you decide to dine there, looking out at the city lights. It was all so perfect.
Looking back on it, you should have realized it was too perfect, the perfect scripting for a Cambridge boy wanting to be an actor. He had certainly played you.
You pick up a scrap of fabric from the floor, tossing it into your remnants bin. You put your pins, scissors, chalk into your basket and turn off your machine and work lamp. Stretching, you exit the workroom. You aren’t sure where things went wrong that weekend. You had walked home, arm in arm. You had enjoyed another night locked in each other’s embrace. He had departed the next day with a promise to meet you in Cambridge and show you to his lodgings. You were there, but he wasn’t, and he didn’t respond to your calls. You had waited until you needed to either return to London or find a hotel. You tried calling him after getting back to your house, too, but messages sat unreturned. You didn’t know what to think. Lisa had encouraged you to go back out and find someone else, but you couldn’t escape the feeling that you would be betraying him somehow. Even now, all these years later, you still feel that way.
Entering your modest kitchen, you look at the time and smile. Your friend should be arriving soon to pick you up. You estimate you have just enough time to get ready and not keep him waiting. He had procured tickets to a red carpet premiere and had asked if you wanted to attend with him. Stunned at his generous invitation, you had agreed.