hungry eyes
~a ludlow shorty inspired by @sweetwolfcupcake 's neighbor series ♥♥♥ (bc i'm OBSESSED, go read it!)
warnings…drunk reader? Tom is kind of a rascal. And definitely watching you way more than he should. Some grey areas in the consent department…but he’s trying really hard to be a better man for you. Bossy!Tom. He’s a cop, whattaya expect, really? Mostly this is fluff.
🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🚔👮♂️🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃
Maybe it's true, that you had a little too much to drink tonight.
And maybe it's also true, that you have trouble finding your keys in your purse, after you spill out of your Uber and stumble up to your front door.
“Are you kidding me?”
You half jump out of your skin as a tall figure materializes out of the shadows of the corner of your porch. You're so startled you nearly fall over–you would have, but for a muscle strapped arm that wraps around you.
“Tom?” you stammer stupidly.
“Yeah, you're lucky it's Tom,” the shadow answers. “What were you thinking?”
“I…what?”
The two brain cells left to you after your girls’ night out are not much help to you.
“You get a ride home–alone–from a perfect stranger–”
“An…Uber?”
“Did you know them?”
“...No?”
“Strike one. Strike two, you don't have your keys ready, fumbling around out here like a sitting duck. Do you know how many dirtbags there are in this city who would just love to snap up a sweet morsel like you?”
“I…what?” All you can focus on is that your handsome neighbor, who you may or may not have a huge crush on, just called you a sweet morsel?
“And, you’re drunk.”
“You're drunk all the time!” you retort. It's how you met the first time, when you scooped him off your porch, one early morning when he thought it was his porch.
You don't see the twitch of a smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth. You're too cute when you get sassy.
“C’mon, honey. Let me help you.” His tone is softer now. It’s totally disarming, when that warmth enters his voice when he talks to you, and maybe you lean against his solid form way more than you should. Worse yet, he lets you, and he has much better luck at digging your keys out of your purse than you did. Soon he is helping you back inside your house–and he is still holding you.
This is something you take more and more acute notice of, as the seconds go by. You’re sort of doing a shuffle/walk together through the foyer, but you can tell by the strength in those arms that he could just put you anywhere he wanted, if he had half a mind to.
“Tom…”
Where do you get the courage to breathe his name in such a kittenish whisper as you turn in his arms? You're so proper with him in your short interactions, usually when you’re helping him out of some mishap he’s caused for himself. The time he was too drunk to find his way home. The time he ran out of coffee and came to you instead of Starbucks. The time you bandaged him up after he cut his hand (he was doing some handiwork for you, so maybe that was your fault). The time he had a cold and you made him special tea…
“What were you doing, outside my house?”
“I was just sitting in my car. Not that you noticed.”
Did you really think you would catch him out with that one?
The truth is he watches you, though. A lot. In part because he worries. Because you are soft, and good, and you don't have a man around, and he's old school enough to think that makes you vulnerable.
And in part…because he just can't look away.
“Hmm.”
Where do you get the guts to look him in the eyes from so close? Tequila surely is courage in liquid form. Of course he doesn't flinch away, meeting your gaze head on with those warm brown orbs that miss nothing.
A detective’s eyes.
Usually you would shrink away, unwilling to subject yourself to such scrutiny, but not tonight. This seems to amuse him for some reason, one of his dark brows lifting slightly.
It's not fair, what that does to your insides.
Naturally, your first instinct as a matter of pure self defense is to roast him.
“How do you manage to crack street-hardened criminals, Officer Ludlow, when you've got such soft puppy dog eyes?”
The eyes in question narrow to slits, and for a thrilling second you think that just maybe you've bitten off more than you can chew.
“Puppy dog eyes?” he questions, his grip on your waist tightening a fraction–it squeezes the breath from your lungs, and you didn't realize it was possible, for him to hold you closer.
“Yes.” There's no backing down now. Though maybe you have lost your mind, when you reach up to touch his cheek with your fingertips.
“Maybe that's just for you, y/n. Did you consider that?”
Oh no.
You shake your head, because your voice has gone off somewhere, hiding deep in your throat. And you shouldn't look at his mouth, after he says such a thing to you, but you absolutely do. Soft, kissable lips…that form such infuriating words most of the time, but right now?
You don’t even realize that you're leaning into him, until your mouth touches his, and it's like a breath of life filling your lungs–your veins, your very cells.
Wow, you are so very drunk.
He knows this–but he doesn’t have the strength to not kiss you back. To not fold your soft body up in his big arms and devour you from the mouth down, because he has wanted you for all these long months and he is just not that strong. Not like that. Not when you are here in front of him, wanting him too. Your hands wander of their own accord, from the column of his neck, the breadth of his wide shoulders to grip the swells of his biceps, your nails digging into his arms as you hold on against the onslaught of his kisses.
When at last you pull back you are seeing stars, breathing like you’ve just run a marathon. Good lord, this man is a menace…or a gift to women everywhere. You haven’t decided which yet.
“Y/n…”
Your name is like the rumble of thunder from deep in his chest, the warning of a coming storm. Gooseflesh erupts along your arms and down your spine, doubled when he sweeps your hair back from your face, that huge hand resting at the nape of your neck.
“Just my luck, this happens on the one night I’m sober enough to know that you’ve had too much to drink,” he laments with that lopsided smile that pulls at all your heartstrings.
“I feel fine,” you protest, the way very drunk people too. You feel fucking invincible, really, and its a rare feeling you wish would last. “I see why you like this,” you admit, perhaps naively, as you toy with a dark curl of hair behind his ear.
He just shakes his head with a sadness in his eyes that makes you want to fight every demon who ever plagued him. “I drink for the numb, sweetheart.” He’s too much of a pro to get that giddy feeling out of a couple of shots. Somehow, he’s sure that’s all it took for you.
Adorable. Too pure for this world. You should not be making time with a scoundrel like him.
“We should get you to bed.”
“Are you coming with me?”
“Sure. For as long as it takes to take off your shoes.”
Where do you get off, pouting like a three-year-old denied a piece of candy? He has half a mind to nibble that full lip of yours. Then a little suck, before doing a full cavity search with his tongue…
He has to blink and shake this thought away, before he scoops you up and makes use of the kitchen table, the bed be damned.
“C’mon, honey.” You’re not sure your legs really work under you, but he gets you down the hall anyway. How does he know where your bedroom is? Maybe his house has the same layout.
You bounce as you drop down on the edge of the bed, looking up at him with what you hope is a come-hither smile. It’s…getting there, but mostly he just finds you too cute for words. You’re actually kind of awkward, a lot of the time. He doesn’t mind. It just makes him want to hold you more, and protect you from the big bad world out there…
Seeing this man kneeling before you does something completely obscene to your insides, and he smirks up at you like he knows all too well, singeing you to a crisp with that smoldering gaze. Without asking he commandeers your little foot in his big hands, plucking at the laces of your trainer. The sound of enjoyment you make as he squeezes your socked foot in his long fingers makes you want to hide in the closet for days.
With shoes done he arranges you bodily upon the bed, pulling the covers up to your chin, and sure he can’t resist kissing you on the forehead, but that’s it. “Sleep, y/n. You’re gonna need some gatorade and aspirin in the morning, believe me. I’ll see if I can find some.”
Then he’s leaving you, while you are laying here with every nerve in your body singing for him and your heart takes a dive for the floor. “Tom, wait?”
He stops in his tracks, turns slightly–because he’s sure if he looks at you full on it’s game over. He’s only a man.
“Will you…hold me?”
“Y/n…”
“Please?”
God. He’s afraid he’d do anything for you, if you asked him in that sweet sweet little voice. Larceny. Murder. Do you even know the power you have?
He doubts that you do.
“Honey, I can’t.” The way your expression falls makes him die a little inside. And goddammit, are those tears? “Hey, hey, hey…it’s not because I don’t want to. You understand?”
“No,” you pout with that pretty mouth of yours, and he realizes this is it. 18 years doing one of the most dangerous jobs in the world, but this is the hill he dies on.
“Just for a little while?”
The difference between women and men, he thinks with some wry amusement. You really do not understand what you’re asking of him.
“Okay. Just for a little while.” Even as he’s saying it, he knows he’s lying through his teeth. If he crawls under those covers with you…he’s not coming out tonight.
Clearly pleased with yourself, unwitting of the wolf you have so blythely invited into your bed, you scoot over to make room, still completely dressed in your clothes from the day and dear god, you are too adorable.
You watch with obvious fascination while he unlaces his boots, and stretches out next to you, practically vibrating with the desire to crawl into the shelter of those arms again and not come out until morning. He gave you a taste, and now you’re hooked.
You’re not sure yet if the joke’s on you, or him.
You’ve always thought of yourself as an independent woman. You work hard. You pay your own bills. You don’t need no man. But gosh…it sure is nice, now that you’ve got one here with you. He smiles with amusement as you keep running your hand over the curve of his bicep, squeezing like you’re testing the ripeness of a fruit.
“You’ve never been with a man like me, have you?” The subtle teasing in his crooked smirk is not exactly unkind, but it definitely makes you blush.
After seeing all your shelves stacked with thoughty books on philosophy, literature, and history, somehow, he pegs you for preferring more soft-handed, bookish types. Not a meathead brute that cracks heads for a living like him. He’s not proud of this, at that moment at least. There’s a part of him deep down that knows you deserve better–but he doesn’t have the strength tonight, now that your soft curves are pressed up against him. You are bliss, and a part of him forgot–made himself forget–the peace that a good woman in his arms can bring to a man’s soul.
Feeling silly, you shake your head, though some ancient woman’s instinct knows exactly how to fold yourself against him, your head tucked against his chest, your legs tangled with his. The contented rumble that echoes against your ear inspires a bloom of warmth that spreads from your heart to the very tips of your toes.
Maybe you feel brave again, with your head tucked under his chin, and he can’t pin you with those obsidian sharp eyes.
“Tom?”
“Yeah, baby.”
“This is nice.”
“Yeah. It is.”
“You can…kiss me again, if you want?”
“Honey….of course I want. But I won't be able to stop. And if you look at me in the morning like I did something to hurt you…I couldn't handle it.”
“Tom, you idiot.”
This actually seems to surprise him. The unflappable Tom Ludlow, taken down a peg.
“What? I'm tryin’ to be a good guy here.”
“I have wanted you for months.”
He blinks at that.
“Really?”
“Yes. I know you're a good guy…and that’s why I'm trying to seduce you!”
“Well…shit.”
“Will you kiss me now?”
This is when you know your sassy mouth has gotten you into trouble. His vision narrows on you like a wolf that has caught sight of a tasty bunny it has been tracking for ages. Your heart jumps in your chest– and your lady parts throb in celebration. Hallelujah. Because if you are something small and soft and tasty hopping through the woods…something in you has ached to be devoured by this man.
He doesn’t answer you with words. Just that smirk, and his big hand behind your head, fisting in your hair, holding you fast as his face lowers to yours. It takes you a second to realize that embarrassing moaning sound…is you, as he rolls to pin you with his weight and his soft lips claim yours. Your legs twine with his, and with a knowing mercy he grants you one of those muscle-strapped thighs to grind upon while he rearranges the cellular structures of your brain with this mind-melting kiss.
Fuck alcohol. This is your new favorite drug.
He withdraws gasping for breath, though trying not to show it. “I’m still not going to fuck you tonight, y/n. But I really, really like kissing you.”
“Then why’d you stop?” you pout, tugging on those raven locks to bring him back down to you.
This time, he doesn’t argue.
