I still miss my kitty, my little furbaby. I miss hearing that obnoxious yowl, I miss how he would scratch his face on my hands and roll over so I could pet his tummy. I miss that warm furry comfort of holding him when I'm sad or lonely. I miss how he would always want to be close to me, even if it meant I would probably step on him. I hate that I had to give him up. I hate not knowing if he's okay. I hate feeling like I abandoned him. And that is the story of how I ended up ugly sobbing while reading Pet Tom by missanonwrites for the twelfth time. This is getting fucking ridiculous. It's goddamn stupid how much I miss him. But I do. I miss my kitty.
THF Power Couples Nominee #2 - Pet Tom by miss anonymous!
Nominated by your-angel-of-afterlife
(To nominate other stories, SEE THIS POST)
Pet Tom by Miss Anonymous!
Romance/fluff: OC/reader is a journalist writing a feature about human ‘pet stores’. A pet that she meets takes a shine to her.
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4/5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18 - Part 19
What are your favorite parts of the story? Why do you love this story? How would you convince others to read this story? Are you reading this story for the first time? What are your thoughts?
TITLE: Pet Tom - The End (Chapter 19)
CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: Chpt 19
AUTHOR: Miss Anonymous!
WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor Tom
GENRE: Fluff/drama
FIC SUMMARY: OC/reader is a journalist writing a feature about human ‘pet stores’. A pet that she meets takes a shine to her. Plot recap: Tom asked OC to move in with him, and she said yes.
RATING: G for guidance (a couple of swear words).
AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS:
Firstly, it's a bit long.
Secondly, this probably isn’t the ending you were expecting but I wanted to explore an undercurrent that has run through the story at various points. I think it reveals the true nature of their love and hope it is a fitting ending.
Also want to say a huge thanks to everyone who has liked, commented, stuck with the story and given me encouragement. It’s been more than I ever imagined when I started this!
And I can’t believe it’s the end. :o
Previous
________________________________________
OC’s POV
We spent the morning exploring each others bodies, Tom playfully chasing me, pinning me down, nipping at me into submission whenever he could.
We were lying lazily in each others arms, sated and spent, when my phone rang, the shrill tone emitting from my bag on the floor in the corner.
I hugged Tom tighter to me. “Its nothing, I’ll let it ring,” I murmured.
It wouldn’t stop, and it was irritating me. I lolled out if bed with a moan and went to turn my phone off. Yet my curious eyes passed over the screen. It was my contact for my regular newspaper column.
Oh crap. I forgot - we were supposed to be having a conference call with a couple of high profile columnists in half an hour.
I dashed home, having barely enough time to grab a cup of tea before jumping on Skype. Tom didn’t seem too upset by my sudden departure, saying that he had some prep work to do before his rehearsal tomorrow. We’d kissed and agreed to dinner later. I said I’d bring some of my belongings over with me now that I was moving in, with a grin. He kissed me enthusiastically, his face boyish and excited.
——
TOM’S POV
I happily settled into my chair, blowing on my coffee. It had been a wonderful morning. I was so relieved that she’d said yes! It did seem quite soon for us, and yet I felt so close to her that it felt perfectly natural.
Life was good.
As I began skimming through my notes and script for tomorrow, I began musing on how serious my feelings were towards her, and the thought of coming home to her made my heart swell. I smiled to myself. I hoped - believed - she was the one. The one I would marry. The one I never wanted to be apart from, who would be constant in my future.
As long as she’s happy sticking around with you.
Shush, doubt.
I press my fingertips to my temples, and try to concentrate on my lines.
History will just repeat itself, you’ll see.
Come on Tom, she’s not like the others, don’t listen to that negative voice.
She won’t be able to handle you. You’re too much for anyone.
My palms begin to sweat, sticking slightly to the script pages. My breathing shallows noisily as I try to calm myself.
It’s selfish to even think someone like her would want to be dragged through the spotlight with you.
My jaw clenches and my teeth grind against each-other. I feel the colour drain from my face.
__________________________
Anxiety.
For the longest time, I have suffered anxiety when it came to relationships.
I can easily recite long Shakespeare monologues to hundreds, thousands of people, alone on an empty stage with no safety net in place if I balls it up. But be fearless in love?
Not a chance.
It had been a repeated cycle. Either women who wanted something from me, other than me, or things had been going well until we went public.
Nothing kills a kindling romance than the harsh glare of the public gaze.
Countless times I had nursed private doubts through each relationship, wondering if this time, this time, it would work. As yet, I had not found someone who could safely put my doubts to rest. Until I met my current love (my love!), the women I had dated had chipped at my hopes of a relationship that could work.
Deep down I had always refused to give up, even when I really wished I could. My heart is too hopeful to close permanently for business. Maybe, just maybe, this time, she would be the love that lasts.
The love I had prayed for in tears at night, each time a gold-digger or a cheater or simply someone who couldn’t handle my fame had crushed my heart.
I know she loves me. I know she won’t break my heart. She is gold.
That’s not what I doubt.
I’m terrified that her love will shatter due to my fame.
And I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.
_____________________
"I’ve got the nerves again," I sigh, and I can almost hear my assistant-come-best-friend roll his eyes through the speaker.
"The journalist?"
"Of course. Hey, why do you always call her that, Luke? She has a name, you know."
"Because I know it winds you up."
Bastard.
"Same as before?"
I think back to my previous nervous bouts and heartaches. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “She means a lot to me, and I don’t want to mess this up. I asked her to move in with me today.”
"And she said..?"
"Yes."
"I knew she would," I can hear him smirk. I had run that idea past him earlier in the week, and he had good-naturedly ribbed me about it, saying I wouldn’t go through with it.
As we talked, somehow, he calmed me down. Maybe just having a mate there for me was enough.
He suggested I tell her everything. About all my ex’s, all my fears. That if she was really ‘the one’ she would respond with care.
Well, those weren’t his exact words. “She won’t be like those other bitches,” was how Luke eloquently put it, but still.
"Shall I tell her about Maggie?"
Luke muses. “She’s part of ‘everything’, isnt she? So if you’re going to tell her everything, then that includes Maggie. Let this girl of yours make her own mind up about it all.”
Well that’s going to be a fun conversation.
________________
At first I felt buoyed by Luke’s support. I wrote ‘tell her everything' on a post-it note and stuck it on the black screen of my currently disconnected computer that sat on my desk, while I ploughed through the directors notes, marking my script here and there.
But as the afternoon wears on, my thoughts begin to poke through, distracting me. I rap my pen on the edge of my desk, stand up, stretch and look out of the small study window. Everything seems still outside, no birds, a lone plane streaking across the sky.
This feeling of fear creeps through me. I busy myself in the kitchen, rearranging the tea boxes in my cupboard based on whether they are black teas, decaf, or herbal. I then make some toast, only really needing one piece, ending up eating four. And by the time she is due to arrive for dinner I’m a mini-wreck, unable to even decide what to cook for her.
I’ll text Luke. That’s what I’ll do.
I race up to my study and grab my phone.
She’s nearly here. What do I say?
I wait nervously, hoping Luke will reply with a solid answer before she rings the doorbell.
Time passes. Christ…
Phone bleeps.
Tell her everything. Man up, tom ;)
I groan. Useless…
I hear the door open with a squeak downstairs. “Tom?”
____________________
"Um," I fluster, scratching the back of my head, "could we, um, could I talk to you, for a minute, just…," I motion towards the sofa and feel a pang of guilt as I see her eyes widen in fear.
"Tom, what is it?" she asks in a level tone, dropping mechanically onto the sofa seat.
"It’s nothing to worry about, honestly, nothing bad’s happened," I begin, nodding, trying to soothe her, though my hand-wringing is probably not helping.
"I just… well, while you were out today I started to think about how much you mean to me, and how… I know this might sound… a lot, I mean I already asked you to move in with me today which is a lot too, but I was thinking… I want.. to spend my life with you and…,” I shift on the seat.
Is it me or does this sound like a really bad marriage proposal?
"…and so I need to share all of me with you." Stay brave, Tom, stay brave.
She swallows, her eyes nervously flitting to the floor then back to me.
"There’s… with my job, there can be some crazy stuff that goes with it, that we haven’t really talked about. Fame…," I shake my head slightly. I still can’t get my head around that word. "…it can be really intrusive, and overwhelming, especially if you’re not used to it. And my schedule can be … difficult. Sometimes jobs take me abroad for longer lengths of time than i’d like, and, it can affect relationships."
Oh great, Hiddleston, now it sounds like an ‘I’m breaking up with you nicely’ speech.
"Oh, Tom…," she smiles, and edges closer to me on the sofa. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and she leans into me. "You don’t need to worry about all that. I love you. We’ll cross each bridge as we get to it."
I chew my bottom lip. It’s not as simple as that, though I wish it was.
I rest my cheek against the top of her head. “I’m really scared it will frighten you off.” I whisper.
"Don’t be," she says quietly, and presses a kiss to my chest, through my shirt.
I swallow.
"For a few years now, I occasionally have severe anxiety attacks about being abandoned… by women," I word it very carefully, not wanting to scare her.
"Tom, I didn’t know… I’m sorry." She sits up and turns to face me, looking concerned, worried.
"Not, not by you! I mean… it’s just…," I sigh loudly, really not wanting to have this conversation.
"Tell me," she says kindly, and sits upright, almost therapist-like.
I take a deep breath.
"Well," I begin, and relay to her my appalling track record. Both the short and long-term relationships. I feel embarrassed by my catalogue of errors, but her face is placid, calm, just receiving what I have to say.
"In my late twenties I had decided that I couldn’t do relationships, that no woman existed for me, so I would give up on the idea and just sleep with women for fun, no strings."
I sigh at the memory. It was not one I was proud of, or wanted to share, but Luke’s words rang in my head - tell her everything.
"I had got as far as working myself up to proposition a woman who was part of the crew at a wrap party, before I stopped myself."
I closed my eyes, recalling the horrific sense of betraying myself at that moment. I had never wanted to be like that. I had just had my heart torn to shreds so many times that I could hardly bare to believe love might be possible.
"I charged to the toilets in shame. I could hardly breathe.The whole idea of just… getting with someone I didn’t know went against every wish, every hope…”. I look down. Tell her everything.
"And so I spent half an hour at my own wrap party bawling my eyes out in a toilet stall."
I hear her smile. I don’t know how, but I do.
"Tom," she says softly, "hey."
I feel her fingers stroke against my forearm.
"I’m proud of you, for doing that," she whispers. "You can’t betray yourself, no matter how grim things might appear."
"Thanks," I reply quietly. "I’ve never talked about this with anyone before. I mean, I’ve never shared my…," I hate to use the word insecurities…, "…doubts with a girlfriend. Luke knows about my fears.”
God does Luke know about them. Despite the stick he gives me, he is a good friend.
"And…," Tell her everything.
I rub my palms together. No-one except Luke knows about this. He nagged me into seeing her after my last relationship ended.
Tell her everything.
"And Maggie." I swallow. "She’s my therapist."
I don’t look to see her reaction.
"She says I’m getting better. That I should give myself some credit for that. I think seeing her has helped."
She gently takes my hand.
"I’m telling you all of this because there will be premieres, paparazzi on the street, media tours, in my future… our future, and I need you to know what you’re getting into.
I need to know that you won’t run.”
She muses. The wait is intolerable.
"Please say something," I ask, fidgeting.
"Sorry," she says, her brow furrowed. "I’m really pissed off."
I swallow. I hadn’t expected her to react like that. A familiar sinking feeling drops through me, from my chest down to my gut.
She’s angry that I didn’t tell her this sooner. She’s angry about what I’ve dragged her into. Oh fuck Hiddleston, you arse.
"I won’t let the world and its mother get between us. I won’t let them stop me from being happy with you." She says quickly. "Some so-called photographers with no talent, and their rags that I wouldn’t even wrap my fish and chips in. Red carpets don’t scare me, Tom, I couldn’t care less. I get that it’s part of your job and I would have no problem being on your arm, dressed in a gown, or in my jeans if I could get away with it."
That raises a smile from me. I could imagine her doing that.
"I’m angry with those… girls who couldn’t handle it. They should have grown some ovaries. And the others who mistreated you, putting these doubts in you…,” she shakes her head, scrambling for words. “I just…,” she sighs, looking at me, her head cocked to one side. “I just want to chop their heads off.”
We both laugh quietly at that.
"It takes a lot to phase me." She smiles to herself, then looks at me.
And she’s right. I believe her. It’s so simple, when I look in her eyes.
She’s never phased by anything. Not by when she first met me as Pet Tom, or when she found out I was actually an actor, or when I shared my anxiety with her before - my fears of her not liking me as simply ‘Tom’.
"Whatever we have between us comes above all of that crap," she pats my knee gently, breaking me out of my thoughts. "You just do what you do and let me handle myself. Maybe I’ll start dressing in animal outfits when we go out together, that’ll give them something to photograph…,"
I gulp. I can imagine her doing that.
"Just joking, you silly muffin," she chuckles and pulls me in for a hug.
"I know there’s not much I can really do to stop your anxiety, cuz it’s all in your noggin, isn’t it," she pulls my head down to kiss the top of it. "But I won’t give you reason to doubt me. And if I ever even begin to feel irritated or overwhelmed by any of this fame gig, I promise I’ll tell you and we can work through it together.”
I snuggle in her arms, and she pets my hair.
‘We can become the odd couple, if need be. I’ll wear a black wedding dress to a premier, you can wear a pirate outfit, it’ll be fabulous. We can storm out of cafes and fling tea at the paps. If your car gets mobbed by fans, let’s stick our heads out of the sunroof and recite lines from your movies to them.” She starts to giggle. “We could really enjoy this, you know…,”
I raise my head to look at her.
"I’d have to get my own back on you. It’s not fair that we’d only go crazy during my public engagements. When you’re speaking at a writing panel, I’m going to sneak on stage in a dog costume and start howling while you talk."
She bursts out laughing, the sound making me grin wildly. My beautiful girl…
"You wouldn’t dare," she retorts.
I growl and yelp lightly at her.
"I don’t know if I’m ready to take Pet Tom out in public," she says nervously.
"Worried I’d misbehave?" I start purring and run my cheek along her jaw, scratching my goatee hairs against her. I hear her breath hitch, her body stiffening.
"You’re right, let’s keep Pet Tom in the house, shall we," I murmur by her skin, though the idea of acting up secretly in public places certainly tickles me.
"How’s your anxiety?" She whispers, her body still. "Do you still think I’ll make a bolt for it, because some twit with a Nikon wants a picture of us carrying Tesco bags?"
I close my eyes and rest my head on her shoulder.
She astounds me.
"You’ve just painted a picture of the future that I couldn’t even imagine before with anyone else - where I can share all of this with you, this crazy, crazy life of mine. And I want to step into it with you. No doubts. No fears."
Tears come to my eyes as I realise the enormity of what she’s given me.
"Only excitement and adventure and hope." I manage to whisper,
She cups my cheek in her palm and guides me until I face her. She softly brushes a stray tear from my cheek.
"Is that everything? Tell me everything. If you have any doubts, I want to know.”
I try to smile through the tears.
"I don’t think doubts can exist with you around."
I hug her tightly, murmuring my “thank you’s” over an over. And I feel an archaic pressure that was pushing down on my solar plexus, like a boot, lift from me.
———
The clouds may return to threaten his peace from time to time, but he knows she will roar at them. Stirrings of anxiety may rise the first time they are snapped in public, the first time she goes to an award ceremony with him, the first time she gets photographed on the street without him. And she will raise a middle finger to it all, with a painted red nail, her eyes fiery and defiant, and his anxiety will bow its head, tail between its legs, defeated, broken over and over until it becomes a faded memory.
He remains her faithful companion, nudging her heart to open and open through the years, every snuffle and growl and lick a small prayer of thanks to her.
He gives her something to be whole-hearted about - living life. He is a constant reminder to her to not take any day for granted. He gives her a reason to be brave. Her life is painted in vivid colours through having him in her life, as she flourishes beside him.
Pet Tom - whether it’s that side of Tom that he indulges in, for her only, throughout their lives, or simply a term they sometimes use to refer to that early period in their relationship where they both learnt how to love whole-heartedly - became something they honoured in some small way at every anniversary.
_________________________
"Oh Thomas, you shouldn’t have, this is beautiful," she carefully tries to pick up the small silver dog charm, her fingers grasping unevenly with the little blue box.
"Let me help you."
Sitting next to her, he reaches over, and nudges the charm out of the soft foam that it rests in.
"There," he then places it in her palm, it bouncing slightly.
With her free hand, she nudges the bridge of her glasses up her nose to see it better.
"What will you think of next year?" she chuckles, and he leans over to plant a kiss on her cheek.
"Forty-five years of Pet Tom," he says gruffly, scarcely believing himself that it had been that long. His hearing might be going to pot, and he doesn’t like to walk alone late at night, but in his heart he still felt 32.
She raises her hand slowly and lays her palm on his head, the thin, sparse silver hairs tickling a little under her skin.
"Always a good boy," she smiles, and he presses at his hearing aid to hear her better.
He smiles, watching as she peers at the little silver dog.
"Thank you," he murmurs, to her, and to Pet Tom, the character that brought them together.
Holy crap that Pet Tom. 0.0 At first I was weirded out by the idea but once I gave it a shot.... wow. I'm hooked. It's like seriously I can't function when reading it.
Glad you are enjoying! And part 18 was just added to the queue, should be posted in the next few hours. Be sure to tell the author directly, alright?
- Kris
Pet Tom by Miss Anonymous!
Romance/fluff: OC/reader is a journalist writing a feature about human ‘pet stores’. A pet that she meets takes a shine to her.
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4/5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17
CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: Chapter 16
RATING: M for things getting a bit sexy
AUTHOR: Miss Anonymous!
WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor Tom
GENRE: Fluff/romance/erotica
FIC SUMMARY: OC/reader is a journalist writing a feature about human ‘pet stores’. A pet that she meets takes a shine to her.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Sorry about the wait folks. Needed to be in the right head-space. Seeing some new pics from OLLA helped! And we’re BACK in business! xx
Previous
____________________________
TOM’S POV
I softly flatten my tongue to caress her armpit, my palms pressing into her waist to hold her still as she gasps and writhes against me. I let my body push flush next to her bare skin, and skim my nose along her arm, breathing her in. She moans my name and I smile as I trail my tongue down, down towards her breast, full, raised and arching towards me.
I will devour her.
I plant tiny kisses on her nipples, switching from one breast to the other, back and forth, and firmly wrap my arm around her waist to hold her upright. I feel her fingers roughly in my hair, and look up, my lips still tenderly at her nipple, to watch her gasp and pant, breathing a strained ‘I… I can’t.”
I straighten and guide her backwards to the bed, one hand pushing her back gently to lie down, whilst I work at my belt and trousers with the other. I bend over to nuzzle my head in-between her knees, kissing the soft skin at the side of her knee, whilst I manage to take off my jeans and boxers, now as naked as she.
I reach up to interlink my finger with hers, and press her hands into the mattress either side of her as I crawl over her. The only part of our bodies that are touching are our hands, yet she undulates and wriggles, her mouth loosely open, on fire for me.
I lean down carefully and brush my lips softly across hers, making her squeal.
“Hey,” I whisper, and pull my head back a little as she tries to kiss me. She lets out a frustrated little grunt, and raises her head to try and reach my lips with hers. As she does so I swiftly unlink one hand from hers and slide the smooth blindfold from her face. He wide eyes blink rapidly and rove over the length of my body.
“Thomas,” she pants, her legs clasping around my waist and almost levitates off the bed trying to wrap herself around me. I steady myself with my arms, solidly remaining over her. “Easy, easy,” I whisper, and nuzzle my head in the crook of her neck to lower her back onto the bed, keeping my exposed crotch very much away from her. I bring my lips to her ear. “I haven’t finished yet.”
She pulls her arms tightly around my shoulders and whimpers. I smile, nuzzling the tip of my nose along the side of her ear.
“All those weeks as Pet Tom,” I whisper, trailing my fingertips along her ribs, “crawling around your thighs…”
I lower my hand to trace the inside of her thigh, making her shudder.
“Glimpsing patches of your bare, bare skin, here and there…,” I shift my face down to lick at her collarbone affectionately.
“Wondering what might be waiting for me under your vest, here…,” I press a trail of kisses down from her collarbone towards the top of her breast.
“Or what may be inches away from me, hidden by shorts…” I let my hand wander across her thigh then smooth around the curve of her buttock, palming it, her roundness fitting perfectly into my large hand, and I squeeze her firmly. Her hips writhe.
I bring my lips back to her ear. “In my collar, so wanting to please you..”
Her breaths are more erratic now, and a hand urgently meanders through my hair, pressing my head next to hers. I’m not sure how long I can continue coaxing her like this, but it is all I have dreamed of, and I don’t want it to be over before it’s even begun.
“Do I please you?” I breathe, and she whimpers again, hands roving across the back of my head and shoulders. She swallows and pants loudly next to me. Her hands wander down towards my behind, but I raise it a little more into the air, away from her, and breathe gently at her ear.
“My body is yours. Every last inch of me. Every limb, every muscle, every movement, every part.” I pull my face away to look down at her. Her eyes are bleary, desperate, full of need. I trail my finger across her lips, musing.
“Let me please you with this body.” I stroke her cheek. “With these fingers”.
I lean down and swathe a long, lingering, full lick across her jaw. “With this tongue…,” I murmur, and she giggles lightly. I smile against her skin, and relax my head on her shoulder, my mouth near her ear.
“With this arm…,” I let my fingertips wander down the side of her breast, past her ribs, to her hip bone, and squeeze the side of my arm flush next to her body.
“With these legs…” I move my knee to nudge in-between her legs, party her legs to accommodate me, then kneel in between and start to lower myself onto her, keeping my weight on my elbows and knees.
My full length nudges softly at her pubic hair as it settles between us. “And with the most hidden, smoothest, gentle part of me,” I rock my crotch softly against hers, eliciting a moan from her as she throws her head back, pressing her body against mine. I kiss her cheek.
“Tom please, Tom please, please…,” she moans, her legs firmly wrapping around mine, pushing up against my straining length.
I breathe at her ear, growling slightly. “Please what?” I whisper innocently.
“You know what,” her head turns and thrashes next to me, and I cup her face in my hand, stroking her jaw with my fingers to soothe her. I stay still, and she begins to calm a little.
Once her breathing is less frantic, and her body lying limp below me, I take her hand, and start to interlock my fingers in hers, then pull them out slowly, rhythmically pumping in-between hers.
“Look at these fingers,” I whisper, and she tilts her head to look, biting her lip. I let my fingers slip from hers and trail them across the back of her hand, meandering circles with my fingertips down towards her wrist. “They yearn to please you,” I dip the tips of my fingers to stroke softly at the inside of her wrist, tracing the veins there, and I hear her moan.
I lower my mouth towards her open palm, and stroke the tip of my nose across the centre, my fingers still teasing at her wrist. “My lips also desire you,” I say quietly at her skin, and kiss her slowly there.
“And what of my tongue?” I growl, nuzzling the skin I just kissed with my nose. “What would he do?” I graze her palm with the tip of my tongue, hardly touching her, and she cries out, her body bucking under me. I then press the width of my tongue flatly across her skin, massaging her palm, tasting the slight saltiness there. Then let my tongue flicker in-between her fingers, and she shrieks, her other hand clasping my shoulder, holding on desperately.
I let her pleasured hand fall down to her side, and gaze into her eyes. I briefly let my eyes wander across her body, taking in every part of her, my mind whirring with ideas of what I could do to her - which part to begin with, how to touch it, whether to finger, or kiss, or bite, or lick…
“Stay still,” I murmur, and bend my head to trail kisses along her neck, softly sucking the side of her throat, biting gently. I let my fingertips kiss the tip of her nipple, and squeeze her legs between my thighs.
“Mine,” I whisper, and let every part of me find every way it can to tip her over the edge.
Just dropping by to show love for Miss Anonymous's "Pool Party". There is nothing perfect than a mer!Tom, I swear to it. (Of course, showing love for Miss Anonymous's "Pet Tom" too. Its so sweet, I just love it!)
Be sure to stop by her blog Miss Anonymous! to share the love, okay? We wouldn’t her to miss it! Very sensual Pool Party was. And Pet Tom is charming as well.
TITLE: Pet Tom - Chapter 14
CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: Chapter 14
AUTHOR: Miss Anonymous!
WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor Tom
GENRE: Fluff/romance
FIC SUMMARY: OC/reader is a journalist writing a feature about human ‘pet stores’. A pet that she meets takes a shine to her. Chapter 14 - Dinner
RATING: Good for all
AUTHORS NOTE: <3
Previous
_________________________________
Tom is an amazing cook. Amazing at one dish, at any rate, by his own admission.
“This is the Hiddleston Spag Bol,” he whirls around from the stove, carrying the large pot onto the cooling rack set in the middle of the kitchen table. “Secret recipe, which I may,” he winks at me, “share with you, when the time is right.”
“And when will that be, my chef?” I ask as he gracefully moves about from cupboard to cupboard, collecting chilli oil, herb jars and a pepper grinder. “Or will that be another surprise?”
He sets down the collection of seasoning and sniffs emphatically at me.
“Not telling.”
Throughout dinner (which was scrumptious, by the way), I couldn’t help looking at the ring. It felt right.
In fact, everything felt right.
Whilst we twisted the pasta with forks in one hand, we held hands across the table with our free hands. We made very gentle conversation between mouthfuls, mostly me complementing the food, whilst Tom asked about my favourite kinds of food. When I told him I loved Mexican food in general, with a straight face he offered to make me nachos for breakfast. I groaned.
The kitchen was mostly white with a grey granite worktop. I noticed a coffee machine and a lot of boxes of tea. He also had oven gloves hanging from the oven rail, which tickled me for some reason.
Maybe because they were in the shape of dinosaur heads.
“What are you thinking?” Tom said quietly, gazing across the table at me, his plate almost empty.
I sighed happily. “Nothing really…. Just noticing how content I feel here with you. Almost like I’ve been here before. Even though I know I haven’t. There’s something familiar about it…”
Tom nods, and takes a sip of water.
“I think you were meant to be here,” he says quietly, looking at me over the top of the glass. He squeezes my hand, still in his. “You certainly look good at my kitchen table.”
I smile.
I could get used to this.
“Pudding?” Tom raises an eyebrow suggestively. I bite my lip. I’m feeling kind of full, but I don’t want to offend him, especially if he’s made something just for me.
“What do you have in mind?” I ask, and start to stand up to clear the table.
“Oh, leave them, I’ll do that later,” Tom wipes his mouth with a napkin and rises to go to the fridge.
“Nothing too heavy after that,” he mumbles as he rummages, then pulls out two small pots, closing the fridge door with his shoulder.
“I’m sorry but I couldn’t help myself when I saw them,” he looks a little embarrassed. “Erm, you do like jelly, don’t you?”
____________________________________________
Who can say no to Waitrose fruit jelly pots?
Especially when you can spoon-feed the wobbly red dessert to a certain pet Tom, snuggling next to you under a blanket on his small balcony.
He laps at the spoon hungrily, giving little grunts of approval.
Whenever I dare raise a full spoon to my mouth, he watches very carefully and whines, tapping my knee with his hand.
I think by the end he might have eaten most of mine as well as his.
Pots emptied, he rests his head on my shoulder, and I reach my hand up to stroke his hair. He sighs contentedly.
“Do you like being a pet?” I ask him quietly.
He snuffles a quiet little grunt.
“Do you think you’ll stop once your project is over?”
He nuzzles his nose against my neck, then gently grazes his teeth across my skin. He sniffs.
“I won’t stop ‘til you say so,” he whispers darkly, and presses his tongue flatly under my ear. I shiver.
“So… erm,” I try to think clearly, but Tom’s tongue is incredibly distracting as it trails to the back of my neck. “Maybe there’ll be times when you’re a pet, then others when… Oh God,” he laps along the top of my spine, whilst gentle circling his fingers just below.
He chuckles, his intermittent warm breath puffing across my neck just to add to the sensuous torture.
“You are endlessly fascinating,” he breathes, and plants a long, lingering kiss on my nape.
He then runs the tip of his nose along the patch of skin he had been so mercilessly teasing. “Do you like both of us?”
I exhale a moan.
“Then,” he starts trailing kisses between my shoulders, “you will have both me and pet Tom.”
He begins coaxing me backwards, one arm wrapped around my shoulders, guiding me until I’m lying on the polished wooden flooring. He shifts to lie beside me, propping his top half up a little on his arms, gazing down at me.
I reach up to stroke the soft hairs of his goatee, and he shifts his mouth to lick at my palm. I can’t help but cry out his name.
“I’m yours,” he whispers, and leans down to ghost his lips next to mine.
“All of me,” he breathes, before sliding his hands under my head to support me. His eyelids flutter momentarily closed, and he continues to gaze at me, rendering me immobile.
“I’m yours,” he repeats, and nudges his nose next to mine, his lips meeting mine for the most tender and light kiss.
And that was it.
That was when he claimed me.
I wound my fingers into his hair and pulled him close to me, his warm body covering me, enveloping me, and I kissed him as if I was drinking him. I wanted him - his scent, his breath, his moans, the feeling of his muscles and limbs and skin - all to flood my senses. I wanted to bathe in him.
He peppered our kisses with little snuffs and grunts, then nuzzled the top of his head into the crook of my neck.
“Puppy…,” I crooned, and he gently bit my sensitive skin. He ran his nose along the side of my neck, then deftly crouched beside me, sliding his arms under my body to scoop me up.
