Today started as a new beginning for you. You were starting classes at the local university, and that fact made you slightly nauseated. You were several years out of high school, and had worked for several more years after that before deciding to go back to school. You really hadn’t decided on a major yet, so your classes were mostly ones that were required before you would choose one.
After a quick stop for coffee and danish (the breakfast of champions), you arrived early enough that you could get a good parking spot, and get to your first classroom. After signing up for the courses, you’d wandered the campus, making notes where each classroom was, so that you knew where to go. It was bad enough that you were slightly older than the average student here; you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself by trying to sneak in if you were late.
The large room was empty, so you chose a desk, then went to examine a couple of showcases along the wall. There were old books, some at least a century old and first editions, under the glass. The collection was impressive, and you would love to have just one of these as yours, since you also loved books. You did have a few old books that were carefully displayed, but nothing like these.
You were so taken with the antique tomes that you weren’t aware that someone else had entered the room.
“Good morning.”
The man’s voice startled you slightly, and you turned quickly to face him. While his voice was soft, and warm, the sight of him literally froze your tongue to the roof of your mouth.
Oh, dear God in Heaven.
He was tall, with tanned skin the color of caramel; his dark blonde hair was a bit long, just to his collar, and had unruly curls that apparently had defied his comb. A scruffy beard covered his chin and cheeks but wasn’t thick enough to hide the razor-sharp cheekbones.
You discovered that his eyes were blue when he looked up from taking papers from his satchel, which he then placed on his desk. You realized then that you were staring and hadn’t returned his greeting.
“Good morning,” you replied, sheepishly. “I apologize, I’m a little nervous. I haven’t been in a classroom in a while.”
His smile nearly made your knees buckle. You did grab the back of a chair, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, and to be doubly certain that you didn’t collapse right there.
“No need to be,” he responded, with a chuckle. “I’m Professor Hiddleston, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
His definite British accent turned your insides soft, and you knew you would have a hard time concentrating.
—
“Professor Hiddleston?!”
Your niece, Lindsey, had practically shrieked once she’d looked over your course choices.
“Yes, why? Is he awful or mean or something?”
“He’s only THE hottest professor on the whole campus!” She had dramatically fanned herself with your papers.
“Stop acting like a teenager,” you’d scoffed. “I’m not there to ogle the teachers.”
“Professors,” she corrected you. “You’ll see what I mean once you see him.”
“Yeah, sure.”
—
Okay, now you knew what she meant.
Your idea of professors needed an update, because you had pictured someone who’d be older, at least as old as one of those books under glass. You weren’t prepared for someone your age.
Professor Hiddleston held your gaze, expectantly, and you had to mentally shake yourself after finding that you were staring yet again. What was he waiting for?
Oh!
You told him your name, and apologized again for your nervousness. (But were you really nervous or shamefully attracted? your inner voice asked.)
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy the class,” he commented.
“I’m sure I will.” Well, that came out as a thinly veiled come on line, since both of his eyebrows quirked upward when he tilted his head slightly.
You took a deep breath before going to the desk you’d chosen, which was a couple of rows from the front. He watched you for a moment before returning his attention to his satchel. Soon, the bell rang, and other students trudged in; some of them spoke to you, but most were in their own worlds, with their eyes glued to their smartphones, making you wonder how they ever got to where they were going without tripping or falling over something.
Once the class had settled down, Professor Hiddleston began with the course introduction while he laid papers on desks in the front row, which were then passed back until everyone had one. While he talked, your attention wasn’t on the material. Instead, you studied his lithe form as he paced the front of the class. He used his hands to talk, and you couldn’t help but notice them as well, especially when he adjusted his eyeglasses.
When the class was over, you remained in your seat for a few minutes in order to let the others file out first, since you didn’t have another class right away. You busied yourself with securing your book and papers in your bag, then stood to leave.
Just before you reached the door, Professor Hiddleston called your name. You froze in place for a second before turning to him. He sat at his desk, and had leaned back in his chair before stopping you.
“Yes, sir?”
“Tomorrow, you might consider sitting in the front row so that you can pay attention.”
“I-ah, of course.”
If you couldn’t make it through one class while daydreaming about him from the fourth row, how were you ever going to survive a full semester of daydreaming about him from the first row?
— —
Okay, so there aren’t any acting lessons here, and this may not be the best work you’ve ever read, but here’s a little offering for you 😝
Feel free to dismiss, or if anyone wants to pick up the gauntlet, go for it.
While holding you, Tom looked down, his eyes flicking over your face before his free hand slid along your arm so that he could grasp your hand. He felt the shiver that the move elicited, and saw the goosebumps on your skin. He lowered his head enough to rub his nose against yours, with his breath ghosting over your lips, causing your eyes to flutter closed from the sensation. His beard tickled, but it wasn’t an unpleasant experience.
“I want to kiss you,” he murmured, his voice low.
“I’d like that,” you breathed. It wasn’t a lie, while you had paid attention in class, you also had daydreamed about what it would feel like to kiss him. You wanted to get your fingers in his hair, and to test the softness of his beard.
Tom gave a soft groan when you bit your lower lip just before his lips captured yours. He felt your fingers tighten on his shoulder even while he splayed his hand in the small of your back in order to pull you just a little closer. You absolutely melted against him, and it was questionable whether your legs would continue to support you. Finally, he pulled back, which allowed you to catch your breath, then caressed your cheek with the backs of his fingers, which earned him a smile.
“You are beautiful,” he told you, while loosening his embrace slightly.
You smiled softly, thinking the same about him. Then you both heard your phone buzzing again from the other room and you laughed breathlessly. Tom cupped your cheek in order to raise your eyes to him, then kissed you again.
“Give her something to talk about,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
You couldn’t help but laugh again, knowing what Lindsey’s reaction would be. She was in her last year at the college, and Tom’s course was not required at that level. The girl was very social, had several social media accounts, and the news would spread like wildfire once she confirmed it. You wouldn’t put it past her to be parked around the corner so that she could see whether he left or not.
“Hey, you won’t get into trouble-“ you started to ask but he shook his head.
“It’s not encouraged to have a relationship with a student, but there aren’t any rules against it.”
You nodded before slipping your fingers up his neck so that you could touch his hair. His eyes closed partially when you gently twisted a curl around a finger; after a couple of minutes, he pressed a kiss onto the back of your hand. Tom shifted to the side so that he could perch on the edge of your desk; both arms went around you, then, so that he could pull you even closer.
“I’ve been watching you since day one.” His voice in your ear was low and full of promises.
“Same here…” You shuddered when he nipped at the soft skin behind your ear then nibbled at your earlobe.
Tom paid careful attention to your ear, then the side of your neck, reveling in each soft gasp, whimper, and tremble that went through you. His hands slid up to your shoulders before moving down to your hips. Finally, he simply held you close while you both composed yourselves.
“If you have no plans next Friday, I’d like to take you to dinner,” he said, after clearing his throat.
“Sure, that would be nice.”
“I’ll pick you up here at six?”
“Alright.”
When he finally stood to leave, you helped him into his jacket and straightened his shirt collar before smoothing your hands over his chest. He drew you close, his hands on your elbows, and kissed you once more before going to his car. While you had the door open, you looked around for Lindsey’s car, but didn’t see it.
You knew that if he stayed any longer, he’d still be there the next morning; you sensed that he felt the same way. You’d never been one to rush into the physical part of a relationship but you were so close in taking his hand and leading him to your bed.
Later, once you were in bed, you finally looked at your text messages. Lindsey had blown up your inbox with “omg’s,” “has he kissed you,” “i’m so jelly,” among other things. You responded that whatever ever had happened was none of her business, and you would neither confirm or deny anything.
~ So he did kiss you! Was her response.
~ You should be packing. Get to it.
— — —
When you arrived for class on Monday, you were a little later than normal because traffic had been backed up due to an accident. You immediately noticed that some of the female students stared at you, their expressions either a mix of jealousy, haughtiness, or downright hostility. You realized that you probably should have been more concerned about the students than the school officials.
Your usual desk was now occupied by someone else, and it was very apparent that she wasn’t going to relinquish it. So you took another desk several rows back and set out your textbook and notepad. When Tom entered the classroom, his glance went immediately to where you normally sat, and you saw his slight frown. When he unerringly found you, his frown deepened. After he put his lecture materials on his desk, he approached the young woman who had taken your seat.
“It’s too late to be switching seats,” he told her. “Please take your things and go back to your regular desk.”
She did so without a word, and her pink cheeks revealed her embarrassment. Once she had moved, Tom beckoned you back to the front row. You quickly grabbed your things and moved once again; while he waited, he looked over the class, with his eyes meeting those of anyone who seemed to be questioning his actions.
“We’re starting our third week of class. If you need to change desks, you will need permission and a valid excuse. Is that understood?”
There was a soft chorus of “yes, Professor”, and once he was satisfied, he began his lecture. You studiously took notes, while glancing between him and your notepad. His action over the desk switching was a surprise; there was a warm feeling inside you, but you also wondered whether he’d made the matter worse.
After class, as normal, you waited until the room was nearly cleared before standing to put your things away. Tom was near his desk and spoke to several students around him. You wanted to speak to him, but were uncertain whether to do so while at school. He made a motion for you to wait, and once the students left, you approached him before following him to his office.
“How was your weekend?” He asked, after closing the door firmly behind you.
“It was fine, I didn’t do much,” you replied, with a smile. “You?”
“My weekend was spent wanting to do this.”
With that, he took your messenger bag and tossed it aside before pulling you close. His hand went to the back of your head; when he kissed you, you felt the desire and need behind it.
“I’m looking forward to Friday,” he murmured, his lips close to your ear.
“Me, too,” you replied.
You could have stayed there for the rest of the day, just leaning into him, but by now the next class was shuffling in, and you had to get to your own class before you were late. Tom reluctantly let you go after a quick kiss.
This is the final chapter of this little story. I hope you enjoy it, and I now see the appeal of Professor Hiddleston 😝 - steamy suggestive stuff ensues, so, use your imagination, since I don't write explicit stuff. ☺️
Every like, reblog and comment are truly appreciated!
For the remainder of the week, you had no problems with anyone trying to take your desk, but some of the female students still gave you The Look, especially when you correctly answered questions posed to the class. The first test had been graded and posted on the school’s internal system; you were pleased to find that you’d passed, although your score hadn’t been perfect.
Tom called you almost each evening, and you spoke for at least an hour. You went to sleep each night with his warm voice playing over in your head. You could get used to listening to that voice every day.
Lindsey also texted you almost every day, fishing for information, and also telling you about rumors she’s heard. You were careful not to share or even hint at anything, because it wasn’t really any of her business. You loved her dearly, but you didn’t want to discuss Tom with her.
By the time Friday came around, you were almost a nervous wreck, and you truly felt like a teenager on the brink of their first date. After you were dressed, you paced until Tom arrived. When he came to the door to collect you, his smile erased your nerves, as did the kiss you received before he took your hand to lead you to his car.
The restaurant that he took you to thankfully wasn’t close to the university so it would be unlikely that any other students would be there, besides he’d reserved a table out of the way, in a corner. The table had booth seating that allowed you to sit close, so Tom’s arm immediately went around your shoulders. When the waiter put a menu in front of you, Tom reached over and put his hand on it so that you lowered it to the table.
“Trust me?” He asked, a challenging glint to his blue eyes.
“Ah, okay, sure.”
He ordered for you both, and then he grasped your hand and linked his fingers through yours.
“So, how did your other classes go this week?” He asked.
“Pretty good, I passed another two exams. I won’t lie, I was kinda worried about them.”
“I never had a doubt about you,” he grinned.
“Ha, you”ve known me for what, three weeks, and you already know how I’d do on my tests?” You teased.
“Well, I did look at the high school transcript that you provided. Your grades were very good. Why didn’t you continue?” He asked.
“Life threw me some curveballs, and I got too overwhelmed,” you shrugged.
“What would you have studied?”
“I really loved English, probably would have gone for a Ph.D.,” you responded.
“If you decide to do that, I can help you,” he told you. “You should have some type of plan.”
“Thank you, I’d appreciate that,” you replied, giving him a grateful smile. “That would mean a lot.”
Tom squeezed your hand before kissing the backs of your fingers. His beard tickled, causing you to shudder slightly which then had him raising an eyebrow. Before either of you could say anything further, your food arrived, and it seemed like the waiter was taking his own sweet time in pouring more wine and looking over the dishes critically, checking for mistakes. He finally left, after Tom firmly sent him on his way.
You declined dessert once the table had been cleared, but stayed to finish the bottle of wine. Tom held your hand, gently caressing your fingers while frequently leaning over to kiss your temple.
“Ready to go?” He quietly asked.
“Yes, whenever you are,” was the response.
— — —
When you got back to your house, you invited him in, but if the looks he’d been giving you at the restaurant were any indication, he hadn’t planned on leaving anyway.
“So, coffee, tea,” you said, after turning to him. “Or me.”
“So cliche,” he replied, but pulled you close anyway. Your arms snaked around his neck so that his forehead pressed against yours.
You laughed softly. “I know, but the question is valid.”
“No to coffee, no to tea...what was the other choice?”
Your nails bit into his shoulders when his lips found the sensitive spot behind your ear before he used his teeth to nip downward along your neck until he reached the curve of your shoulder.
“I should lock the door...and turn off the porch light,” you whispered.
As soon as you’d finished speaking, your back was to the door when he smoothly turned and pushed you against the oak. Without stopping his ministrations to your neck and throat, he managed to engage both locks, including the deadbolt.
“Done.”
“Light—“ your palm slapped the wall before finding the switch for the porch. “Now—“
You didn’t get to finish your thought when he lifted off your feet high enough where your face was level with his. Both your hands slid through his hair when his mouth found yours (oh, could he kiss!), and you felt that he was determined to steal your breath. You finally had to turn your head in order to breathe.
“Where?” He asked.
“What?”
“Where?”
“Past the library,” you breathed.
Before you knew it, he had sat down on the side of the bed and held you between his knees. If you didn’t know better, you would have sworn that he had teleported there.
“What’s funny?” He asked, while sliding his hands around your hips.
“Nothing, absolutely nothing.”
Tom hugged your waist, his cheek against your stomach, and stayed that way for several minutes. When he did lean back, you felt cool air on your back, making you realize that he’d unzipped your dress without you even being aware. It was at this point you became somewhat reticent, since it had been awhile since you shared anyone’s bed. He slowly brushed the dress off your shoulders, then guided it down until you were able to step out of it, while holding onto him for balance.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, as he ran his fingertips along your ribs, stomach, then hips.
You quivered when his lips followed the trail of his fingers, and you felt as if you would combust any moment now. No words would form that would guide him; the only thing you could do was to grip his shoulders or his hair.
Finally, he pulled you down onto his thigh, where he ran his hand down each of your legs until he was able to flick your shoes off. Now you only had on your underwear but Tom wasn’t in a similar state of undress.
Time to remedy that, you thought.
You unbuttoned his shirt as far as you could reach, but before you could touch him, he scooped you up and put you on the bed. He then stretched out over you, groaning softly when you finished with the buttons on his shirt and pulled it free from his belt. Now you had your turn in touching him, and found the sensitive areas as you lightly raked your nails over him. He shuddered before leaving you long enough to discard remaining garments, including yours, then he lowered his head again to your neck, where he nipped again before licking gently after you gave a little yelp.
You wrapped yourself around him, causing him to wince slightly when your nails bit into him so he trapped both close to your head, and then he captured your lips in a rough kiss, which was unexpected. He drew back slightly to search your eyes, and smiled when you raised your head to press your lips back to his.
Tom touched the bruise that had started to form on your neck before reaching back to run his hand down your thigh. Then he pressed into you, growling when you arched beneath him and offered your throat. Your bodies moved together, with each thrust wringing a gasp or soft, mewling sounds from you while your nails drew blood from him in return. He once again held your hands down just as your climax engulfed you like a burning flame. You lost all senses until finally you felt him gather you close when he reached his own high. Tom collapsed against you, panting while peppering your face and jaw with kisses.
You rolled with him when he turned to his side, and tucked yourself under his chin. Tom’s fingers ran down your back, his touch firm enough not to tickle. You sighed blissfully and moved as close to him as you could. Before either of you could doze off, however, you both heard your phone go off from the living room.
“Probably Lindsey,” you told him. “She’ll want to bring my suitcase back tomorrow and grill me about my week.”
Tom hummed in acknowledgment while he brushed your hair back from your face and the action made your eyelids droop.
“Let’s give her something to talk about, hmmm?” He replied, drowsily.
You couldn’t help but laugh softly in agreement.
— — —
The next morning, you both were in the kitchen when someone knocked at your door. Tom sat at the dining table while you were busy at the stove, making breakfast. He grinned at you when you slid your fingers through his hair as you walked past him.
When you opened the door, Lindsey indeed had brought your suitcase back. You’d really thought that she’d be resting after her trip but knew that she couldn’t resist coming over as soon as she could.
“Hey, good morning,” she greeted you but stopped. “Your neck….”
“What’s wrong with my neck?” You asked, innocently.
“Uh, nothing,” she stammered.
“Come in.” You stepped aside while holding the door open for her. “Did you have a good time?”
“The best! You should go sometime. New Orleans is beautiful—“
By this time, she’d noticed Tom, and froze in place while you went around her to get back to the kitchen. He also had bruises visible on his neck and jaw, which she noticed immediately.
“Good morning, Lindsey,” Tom greeted her amiably.
“Professor,” she responded.
“Sweetie, you can take the suitcase back to my room and put it in the closet.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Tom chuckled very softly as you put his breakfast of pancakes in front of him, then sat down with your own. When she returned, she stood hesitantly for several minutes, simply looking between the two of you, with your bruises her focus.
“Do you want breakfast?” You asked, while pouring more coffee for Tom.
“No...no, I should go,” she responded. “I...uh, see you later.”
Once the door closed after her, you burst into laughter once you were sure she was out of earshot.
“You know that by the time Monday gets here, people are gonna to do their best to see these bruises,” you told him.
He shrugged slightly as he took your hand. “Doesn’t bother me. You?”
“Not at all.”
“Good,” he nodded. “You know, if we try really hard, I’m sure we can create a few more.”
By week two, you were much better at paying attention to Professor Hiddleston’s lectures. You did choose a front desk, per his suggestion, and took great care to watch him, except when you took notes.
He paced along the front, or prowled, rather, his eyes always moving over the students, ready to call someone out for being inattentive. He roamed with feline grace, a swagger in his step that involved his shoulders, hips, and legs (grief, those long legs). His hands moved as usual, emphasizing his points.
As he strode across the room, he would occasionally stop directly in front of your desk; in those instances, he would lightly run his fingers over an open space, or on the textbook seemingly without being aware of doing it. The first time he’d done it, you’d shifted in your seat and had accidentally tapped his knee with your foot when you crossed your legs.
When you looked up to apologize, you could have sworn that he winked before moving on. That alone was enough to make you lose focus for a few minutes, but by the time he made the return trip, you were composed.
Throughout the lectures, you learned that he loved antique books, along with classic literature, which put a thought in your head that he might enjoy looking at your collection. So, on Friday, you decided that you would invite him to dinner. You didn’t want to give yourself enough time to chicken out, and maybe deep down, you were half-hoping that he’d already have plans.
Today was the day.
He didn’t lecture, but instead had the class do book work in preparation for an upcoming test. He, in turn, made notes for Monday’s class. You periodically stole glances at him, wondering whether you really wanted to put yourself out there and risk rejection or at the very least, humiliation.
Once the class was over, you took your time in putting your things away, wanting to wait until everyone else had left. Then, you took a deep breath, and approached the man at the desk, the whole time giving yourself a stern reminder that you were an adult, and it was just dinner.
“Professor?” You asked, quietly, relieved that your voice didn’t squeak.
He looked up at you, before removing his glasses. “Did you have a question about the work?”
“No, but I did want to ask something,” you replied, your fingers clutching at the strap of the messenger bag slung across your shoulder.
Those exquisite blue eyes forced the reason for approaching him right on out of your brain. When you said nothing, his eyebrow arched questioningly.
‘Sure, but you can call me ‘Tom’ after class.”
“Okay, Tom. Are you busy tonight?” You finally asked.
“I have no plans. Why?”
“I’d like to invite you to dinner at my house,” you rushed through the words, and tripped over them. “I have something I’d like to show you.”
Now the side of his mouth curved along with his eyebrow.
“Dare I ask what?”
“I think you’ll be interested.”
“No doubt.” His eyes sparkled as he smiled.
You got the distinct feeling that you and he were talking about two different things, when it dawned on you what you’d said.
“I-I’m sorry,” you stuttered, horrified, and backing away. “I didn’t mean to imply-“
When you turned for the door, Professor Hiddleston stood and blocked your path. You wouldn’t look at him, knowing that you’d regressed to your sixteen-year old self, and all you wanted to do was escape the room, and then drop the course first thing on Monday.
“Hey, it’s alright,” he told you softly, his hand on your elbow.
“No, it’s really not,” you muttered. You knew how childish you must seem to him. “Professor, I truly apologize-“
“Tom,” he responded. “Come on, now. No offense taken.”
He gently curled a long forefinger under your chin and tilted your face upwards.
“Really?”
“Really,” he replied, smiling.
He really shouldn’t do that, you thought, as your knees turned quite wobbly. If your hands didn’t have a chokehold on your bag strap, you’d probably be clutching at his chest for support.
“Now, what time is dinner?”
“You’d still come?”
“Of course, unless you intend on serving broccoli.” His nose crinkled in distaste.
“No broccoli,” you assured him.
“Good, then it’s a date.”
You nodded, before taking out a pen and piece of paper. After quickly jotting something down, you handed it to him.
“Seven o’clock, and these are the directions, and my phone number. Just in case.”
“In case?”
“You get lost.”
“I won’t get lost.”
He squeezed your elbow gently before dropping his hand away. When he folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket, he winked again.
He really shouldn’t do that, you told yourself, as you left the room on shaky knees, aware that he watched you.
Tom leaned against the door jamb and watched until you were out of sight. He smiled to himself before going back to his desk. He rarely showed interest in his students, since most of them had been out of high school for only a year or so, but you had caught his attention on the very first day of class. You were more near his age, and he’d watched you after you’d moved to the front row.
Things have just turned interesting, he thought, as he settled behind his desk again.
Once you’d left the classroom, Tom’s words sank in.
Date? Crap.
You had asked him to dinner. At your house. Could that be construed as a date? You hadn’t meant it that way, but did he? Truthfully, you wouldn’t mind at all if he did. You weren’t normally so...forward...and had never asked a guy on a date before. You could hear your mother’s voice in your head: girls don’t ask guys out on a date. Guys are supposed to be the ones to ask.
You loved your mom dearly, but that piece of advice had resulted in very few dates when your parents deemed you old enough to go out. Now you were an adult, but still had a hard time asking a man out. It was much safer to “grab a coffee”, with no expectations afterwards. Sometimes it worked out, but most times it didn’t.
Oh, well.
You didn’t have any more classes, so you went home to take inventory of your kitchen in case you had to go to the grocery store. After stepping through the front door, you were greeted by the sight of your living room. All that procrastination of the housework meant that you’d have to clean and cook.
Okay, kitchen first, you thought.
You quickly looked through the fridge and pantry; you had plenty of chicken, salad greens, and rice, but no dessert or tea. So you made a quick trip to get those items, before prepping the salad and putting the chicken into a marinade. Once that was done, you tackled the clutter in the living room, then swept and mopped.
That gave you time to dust the library, where your antique books were displayed behind the glass shelving of a barrister bookcase. The case was dust free, since you pampered its contents.
By the time Tom arrived, the food was almost ready to serve, and you’d freshened up and cleaned the kitchen. When a knock sounded at the door, you jumped slightly before going to answer it. At the sight of him, you went speechless for a moment, while he waited for you to invite him in. He’d dressed a little more formally that you expected, as he wore a light blue dress shirt, no tie, and a suit jacket.
“Hi,” he spoke first, smiling at you.
“H-hi,” you replied, mentally kicking yourself as a reminder that you weren’t sixteen years old. “Come in, make yourself at home.”
After you shut the door, you turned to him and were surprised by a small bouquet of flowers, and a bottle of wine.
“You didn’t have to...but thank you,” you murmured, after accepting both. I think it’s a date.
“My mum would have my head if I didn’t bring something for the hostess,” he responded with a wink.
You nodded before motioning him to follow you to the kitchen so that you could put the flowers into a vase. The wine went into the fridge until dinner was ready. You then placed the flowers on the table, for the centerpiece.
“If you’d like to take your jacket off, I’ll hang it up for you.”
“Sure.”
Tom handed you the jacket, then watched while you put it into the small closet by the door. By the time you turned around, he’d rolled his sleeves up almost to the elbow, and your breath caught in your throat at the sight of the strong forearms.
“Dinner is almost ready, the bread just needs a few more minutes,” you told him, while motioning to the sofa. “Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you care for something to drink? I have tea, or I could open the wine now.”
“Not just yet,” he replied, after seating himself. “But thank you.”
“Of course.”
You took a quick peek at the oven to make sure that the bread wasn’t in danger of burning before sitting down in a chair close to where he’d chosen to sit.
“Did you have any trouble finding me...uh, my address, I mean?” You asked.
“None,” he responded. “This is a lovely house.”
“Thanks. It belonged to my grandparents.”
When Tom first entered the door, he noticed that the house had a happy, lived-in aura about it. He’d seen too many homes of his colleagues that were decorated sparingly, with an austere look, and he sometimes felt that the house was just an empty shell. Your house, though, had seen many family dinners, with small children running here and there, likely wrecking the place. He liked the feel of it.
“So, how long have you been teaching at the university?” You asked.
“Five years,” he responded. “I taught in England before moving here.”
“I’ve never been to England, although I’ve always wanted to visit Scotland. Lots of history there.”
He nodded his head in agreement. “Yes, I did occasionally visit the tombs of the kings and queens.”
“I always find it amazing that some things have lasted for centuries, such as the castles.”
Tom nodded again and smiled softly. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m an online customer care agent: I help people track their orders or replace them.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“It can be. Excuse me for just a moment.”
Tom watched while you took the bread out of the oven, then put the wine bottle on the table, along with two glasses. You glanced over the table, making sure that everything was in place before you sat down.
“Okay, dinner is served,” you said, with a flourish of your hands.
He chuckled softly as he joined you. While he opened the wine, you plated the food and set the salad bowl on the table. Once you sat down, he poured wine for you both.
“Looks delicious,” he commented.
“Thanks, I hope you enjoy it.”
While eating, the conversation became less stilted as you grew more comfortable with him. Tom told you about England, and the historical places that he’d seen first hand, which had you thinking about planning a trip there. While he spoke, he used his hands as always, which more or less made you focus on them instead of what he was saying. That accent caused a warm flush throughout your body, and you decided that you could listen to him forever.
Just then, your doorbell jolted you into losing focus on him, and caused you to frown slightly as you got up.
“Who in the world-“ you muttered. “I’m not expecting anyone else tonight.”
It was Lindsey, your niece, who had come to borrow a suitcase for a week-long trip.
“You’re cutting it close, aren’t you? I thought you were leaving early tomorrow.”
“Yeah, but I had to do some shopping, and…”
Her voice trailed off when she noticed who was sitting at your dining table. Her eyes went wide, and her mouth formed a perfect “O”.
“Hello, Lindsey,” Tom greeted her, pleasantly.
“Hi, Professor,” she responded.
“The suitcase is in my bedroom. You know where to look.” You nudged her in the right direction, since she seemed frozen in place.
“Oh-kay, thanks.”
Lindsey retrieved the suitcase in record time, then hovered in the living room.
“Was that all you needed?” You asked.
“Yeah, I think so.”
You could tell that her mind raced with a million questions that she couldn’t ask now, but you would hear them later. She’d probably sit in her car, in the driveway, and start texting you.
“Okay, then. Have fun and be careful.” You hugged her briefly, before nudging her again in order to get her feet moving. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Once the door closed, you took a moment to set your cell phone on silent and left it where it was before taking your seat again.
“How do you know Lindsey?” Tom asked.
“She’s my niece.”
“I see.”
The rest of the meal went without interruptions, other than your phone buzzing from incoming texts. You studiously ignored it, which amused Tom, after you explained that it was likely that Lindsey had sent the barrage of messages.
After dessert, Tom helped you clear the table, then dried the dishes after you washed them. There had been a small disagreement about who would wash or dry, but you’d won out, insisting that you didn’t want him to get anything on his shirt. He gave in, so you worked side by side, with your arms occasionally brushing against each other.
He smells good, your brain pointed out, needlessly. And he has nice hands.
Tom watched you as well, aware of your perfume and the scent of your hair. He never dated a student in his classes, not wanting the aggravation if someone felt that he favored one student over another. Besides that was the age gap; he simply didn’t want to deal with fickle girls. But you were close to his age, and other than your embarrassment earlier over asking him to dinner, he appreciated the maturity.
After finishing the dishes, you put the tea kettle on to heat before turning to him. You glanced over his shirt to make sure he hadn’t been splashed before leading him to the library.
“I asked you over so that I could show you my book collection,” you told him, with just a hint of embarrassment. “I thought you might like to look at them.”
“Oh? I’d like that. Lead the way.”
You preceded him to your small library, and invited him to look around while you slid a glass cover on the barrister bookcase open. Tom looked over the titles on the spines, but didn’t remove any of them.
“You can take them down, if you want,” you assured him. “A few of them are worth something, but they’re not in pristine condition.”
“How did you obtain them?”
“Believe it or not, some of them were at yard sales, or estate sales,” you responded. “I worked in an antique shop for a while, and bought some books that came in. I got lucky on this one.”
You reached up to take a book with a red cover on it. When you handed it to him, he took a closer look. It was the first Harry Potter book, which had limited printing in Britain. He wasn’t sure what made it so special, until you pointed out the author‘s name.
“They changed from having her first name to her initials on subsequent printings,” you explained. “And this edition was sent to schools and libraries.”
“You did get lucky, then.”
Tom carefully put it back and took down another one. You watched while he carefully handled the books, then put them back. He then found one on
Shakespeare and looked at it longer. It was an old book, but not rare; it had some value but wasn’t that expensive.
While he flipped through the book, you stretched to reach the top shelf. He quickly reached up to help you, but you lost your balance slightly and fell against him. One strong arm went around your waist to steady you while he kept the book you’d been reaching for from hitting the floor.
“Sorry, Sorry,” you whispered. Your hands had landed on his shoulders when you lost your balance, but you couldn’t move them while he had you anchored against him.
“No worries,” he murmured back.
He made no move to release you, so you looked up at him to find that his blue eyes held an intensity that sent a shiver through you, from head to toe. You knew that you should put a distance between you both, but you simply couldn’t move. You probably had that quite lovely “deer in the headlights” look on your face, which was neither consent or dissent. So, you just waited to see what he’d do.
I’ve posted this on AO3 in case tumblr users get an error.
Summary: You’ve decided to go back to school after being in the workforce since graduating high school. You haven’t yet decided on a major, so are getting a few required courses out of the way first. When you meet the professor for your first class, you understood why your niece nearly fainted once she looked at your class schedule before declaring that Professor Hiddleston was THE hottest professor on campus.
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25859956
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