Random One Shots

Random one shots with actors, musicians/bands and characters.

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143. Tom Hiddleston 11

~“Thomas, sit still,” you snapped, trying to pin the seam of his pant leg. He replied with only a throaty chuckle and refused to cease the swaying of his hips. With the back of your hand, you swatted the outside of his thigh. You rolled your eyes playfully, pairing that with an exaggerated sigh. It was endlessly entertaining to watch Loki dance to the musical stylings of Lady Gaga, but you really needed him to stop.
“I really like this song!” he crooned, starting to tap his toes to the rhythm. Trying to maintain a jesting tone, you were quickly losing your patience. You did the only thing you could think to do. Without consideration, you reached up and pressed your palms against his hips bones. The way they jutted out when he moved was nearly maddening, but you had to keep your wits about you. There could be no leading on about your feelings for him.
“Unless you’d like a pin to the testicles, I’m going to have to ask that you quit moving until I’m finished,” you snickered halfheartedly. He bit the inside of his lip and his hips slowed to a gradual stop. The corners of his mouth twitched briefly, but when he saw the grin on your lips, they curled up into a full smile.
“Oh, come now! You wouldn’t damage such precious cargo!” he chirped, wringing his hands together. His signature chuckle echoed off the walls. You shook your head, gathering a part of the seam at his inner thigh.
“Don’t tempt me, Tom,” you sighed, looking up at him with a wink. He lowered his hand, running his narrow fingers over your lower jaw. Unconsciously, you leaned into it. His palm cupped your cheek, and for some reason, you couldn’t seem to break eye contact.
“You look positively breathtaking from this angle, darling.” His voice had dropped from the usual cheerful tone to a dark, husky baritone. Your breathing became shallow, hitching in your throat. There had always been a palpable sexual tension between the two of you, but for the sake of professionalism, you refrained from acting upon it. Even now, with his eyes trained on your expression, you were a bit leery. You wanted this. You had for years, since first meeting him. But the constant threat of losing your job loomed overhead like a storm cloud. Still, you put on a playful face. You tacked the last piece of the seam and patted his thigh.
“Go change,” you snickered, finally tearing yourself from the hold of his stare. “And be extremely careful taking those pants off. Wouldn’t want you to stick yourself, would we?” He sighed, forcing a smile when you glanced back up. He took a step off the pedestal, turning his back to you.
“Mind getting that rotten zipper for me, love?” he chuckled, glancing over his shoulder. You stepped up and over the pedestal, placing both hands on his back. There was a slight trepidation in your touch, like you’d mistaken his comment for something more than it was. The musculature around his spine tensed. Your fingertips worked deftly to grasp the pull of the zipper. His pale skin, brought on by a forced lack of sunlight, seemed to glow over the top of the collar. The black panels of the tunic parted easily enough with the downward trend of the zipper. It wasn’t hard to tell that he was holding his breath.
“There.” You rubbed his shoulder, and felt him exhale slowly, quietly. He thanked you briefly before shedding the remainder of the garment. That was just about all that you could take. The new sight of his entire back bared to you brought about a new appreciation, and if there was a God, you were thanking them profusely.
“Pants too, love. I can’t see it,” he quipped, resting his hands on his hips. This jarred your gaze from his back to the zipper of his pants. Your hands twitched with anticipation, and the nerves nearly won. The stutter of your fingers against his lower back caused him to tense up again. A chill ran up the length of your spine as you grabbed the pull and began to slide it down. When the dimples in the back of his hips became visible, you let out an involuntary gasp. With an airy laugh, you just knew he had that smug grin on his lips.
“Mind letting me get dressed, now, darling?” You drew your hands back quickly and gestured to the door.
“Yeah, I’ll, uh, I’ll be out there. Don’t worry about hanging it up, though,” you breathed, moving towards the door. You took one more glance back, watching Tom shimmy the now form-fitting pants down his long legs. His ass looked beyond perfect, but, of course, you weren’t going to say anything. You slipped out silently, pulling the door shut with an inaudible click.
The anxiety and nerves swelled to an all-time high and you plopped down at your desk, burying your head in your hands. Not only had you just made a total goon of yourself in front of Tom Hiddleston, but managed to single-handedly destroy the prestige you’d spent so much time building. Great, now I’m definitely both getting fired and throwing myself off a cliff. You sighed, thumping your forehead into the heels of your palms.
“Don’t do that, my dear. You’ll give yourself a migraine.” A pair of hands found their way to your shoulders, cautiously rubbing away the tension. You let out a breath and leaned back in your chair, letting these hands work their magic.
“Thanks, Tom,” you muttered back, allowing your head to loll to the side. He looked down at you with a grin, taking your response as a go-ahead to work his deft thumbs into the tissue a bit harder. The second he did, you let out a grateful moan of relaxation. “Please, don’t stop.”
“Do be mindful of those delicious noises you make, love. I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong impression,” he whispered, dropped his lips beside your ear. The tip of his tongue flickered over it momentarily, and you bit down hard on the inside of your lower lip, near the point of drawing blood. His mouth trailed sloppy kisses from your ear, down your jaw, to the crook of your neck. Your head dropped back against him.
“Tom, this is unprofessional,” you sighed halfheartedly.
“And yet, you’re not exactly begging me to stop, are you?” You shook your head. His lips departed your skin, leaving you speechless, but ready to beg for more. Before you had the chance, however, his mouth captured yours. It didn’t leave a searing feeling, like the former kisses. It was soft, gentle, kind. And almost as soon as it began, it was over. He pulled back far enough to break the kiss, but stayed close enough to leave his lower lip barely touching yours.
“Tom-”
“Forget professionalism. In fact, fuck professionalism. I’m not letting a bunch of stuffed shirts with upturned noses dissuade me from having what I have craved for so many years. I’ve watched since my first fitting as you’ve worked those pretty little fingers to the bone. You’re constantly under immense stress and pressure, and you deal with it like a champion. Please do me the honor, give me the privilege, of allowing me to help you relieve some of that stress. Say, perhaps, dinner this evening?”
He stood hunched over your shoulder; lips still a scant inch from yours. You gave a hesitant nod, but he clicked his tongue, making a tsk tsk noise.
“Answer me, sweetheart. Out loud. I want to hear you say it,” he commanded in a lower tone.
“Yes. Dinner sounds wonderful.”
“Magnificent. I’ll send details later. I greatly look forward to it.” He pressed a messy, open-mouthed kiss against your waiting lips and turned on his heel, strutting out of the room.
 

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