TITLE: In His Kiss
CHAPTER NUMBER: 4
AUTHOR: kanevixen / theothercourse
WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor Tom
FIC SUMMARY: In July 2011, Immediately following the Avengers shoot (moved from April-August to January-June).Tom Hiddleston and his costar, Abigail Morgan are drawn into a very private and torrid affair. In the months following the run of their play, Tom Hiddleston and his costar Abigail are still involved in their affair. Abby’s fallen in love with him, can she convince him that his jealousy is rooted in more than friends with benefits arrangement?
AUTHORS NOTES:This was originally written as a one shot, but grew into a entire universe: Upstaged/In His Kiss/In Her Arms/Who Loves you, Baby? -Story Post (Including all one shots)
A/N: Keeping these chapters insanely short on purpose. Based on a series of one shots - unbeta’d/smut
IN HIS KISS - CHAPTER 4
Deeply inhaling the strong earthy, bitter smell of roasted coffee beans, I greedily wrapped my numb fingers around the stiff cardboard cup. December London weather dropped significantly in the past few days, and I could feel the threat of impending snow in my muscles. I took sanctuary from the gloomy and frigid day with a steaming hot Caramel Macchiato, a thoroughly handsome, flirty friend and a conciliatory shared blueberry muffin.
I didn’t know how long my punishment from a certain Tom Hiddleston would last, so I did the only thing I could – wait. In every way possible, I had spent every waking and sleeping moment with him before his trip to New York City for the War Horse premiere. I welcomed him into my bed and my heart time and time again, only to be left feeling hollow. His flight back from the Big Apple was four days ago, four excruciatingly slow and dragged out days. I was still waiting for a phone call or text asking for my company, fearing one might never come.
All the intense waiting and worrying was having a demoralizing negative effect on my confidence. The coveted role of Laura in the Glass Menagerie was bestowed upon another actress two days ago and I was left with creepy Dennis and a handful of auditions in my foreseeable future. I smiled widely for my companion, but I could feel the forced nature of it, confident that he could see beyond the show of teeth.
Henry was wrung out and shown the sidewalk with a canned ‘We’ve gone in another direction’ for the role of Jim as well. Cursing our luck and belief in our lack of talent that rejection always brought, we sat together for a chat. Shaking his head at me, Henry said, “You are a master deflector, Abby. How do you do that?”
“What did I deflect?” I shoved a small piece of muffin into my mouth and chewed slowly. I wasn’t shocked that someone picked up on how secret I kept my personal life. Henry and I passed the time together at these auditions. This was our first opportunity to complain since we’d both lost out working on The Glass Menagerie.
“Every time I ask you for a proper date, you get me talking about locomotives, or sea urchins, or blackcurrant jam. Frankly, I’m surprised you agreed to coffee with me for a third time.”
I shrugged playfully. “It’s cold and I like coffee.”
He laughed at my joke. “So this,” he gestured between the two of us. “Not even about me then.”
“Where did we land on jam? Which do you prefer: Hartley’s or Sainbury’s?” I was guilty of changing the subject, but I wasn’t sure how to handle turning him down every time we met for coffee. Instead of a flat out rejection because I was hung up and sleeping with someone else, I’d chosen avoidance of that particular subject.
“Hartley’s… but we’re not talking about the consistency of it again.” He smiled and pointed at me with the wooden stirrer. “There’s something you’re dodging.”
Embarrassed, I stared into the murky colored foam of my drink, trying to figure out what I could say. Hesitating for more time, I scooped another piece of the pastry between us into my mouth. Why couldn’t I fall for a man like Henry who was genuinely interested in me and asked for the opportunity of my company? He was a nice man, one that actually liked me and told me so. My heart went the wrong way, and turning my back on Tom – I just couldn’t. I glanced up into the strong features of Henry before looking down again. “It’s complicated.”
Henry reached across the small divide between us, and touched my wrist gently. “You’ve said. It doesn’t have to be. I like you, Abby, despite all your ducking.” His eyes softened as he watched me and pulled away from me again.
I checked my mobile display discreetly once more, hoping, wishing, wanting to see a text, email or missed call from Tom. Nothing. I reminded myself again that this was day four since Tom had returned and I felt every minute of that time. Over a week since I’d seen him or talked to him, the withdrawal keenly affecting my self-esteem. He, in the short time I’d known him, boosted the faith I had in myself, given voice to my fears and reservations. Because I was so alone in this world, I was disposed to disappearing into my head. Without Tom, the introvert that I am was beginning to reappear.
Surprising myself, I asked shyly, “Really? You like me?”
“You’re magnificent, Abby. I’ve asked you out seven times. How many times do I have to ask before you believe it?”
“Eight?” I coyly hinted.
Perhaps I was being foolish drafting poor unsuspecting Henry into the whirlwind of my emotional hurricane. Henry was decent and honorable, deserving a woman completely devoted to him, not someone infatuated with someone else. My conflicting thought was that I deserved a man willing to be seen in public with me. I agreed to see him on Sunday night after his shift as a server at a local pub.
With the loop of callbacks for one job behind me, I threw myself back at the mercy of Dennis. I freed my schedule at the BBC so that I could shoot whenever they needed me. I was hoping they would increase my storyline, enhancing my screen time. I reported to the studio early Saturday for a half day of shoots.
When I checked my phone on the way out of the building, Tom magically reappeared. A text was waiting for my response, a silent but deadly landmine of emotional trauma, a booby trap.
‘Come by my place?’
No words of affection. No personal touches. A command rolled in a question.
In five words or less, this man could send me into a tailspin. In true Tom fashion, his timing was impeccable. I was preparing to move on and he reappeared to reclaim my heart as his. Taking control and owning my decision to leave him behind me, I didn’t answer his text. Instead I took the tube to his flat, determined to give him a piece of my mind, tell him that this arrangement didn’t work for me, and I didn’t want to see him anymore.
This was my perfect plan.
Like a battle in my head, the sensible, intelligent plan fought for supremacy over the emotional, pining heart. The burning instinct to run into his arms and stay there dying hard against the smart road of leaving the memory of him behind me.
Against habit, I knocked on the door when I arrived, instead of walking through as I’d done a fortnight ago. My anger and hurt over his treatment of me didn’t leave room for nervousness. I hated that he felt that I needed punishment for not going to New York City with him. I hated that he didn’t contact me to let me know that he was back and safe. I hated that I was disposable to him. Most of all, I hated that I didn’t mean as much to him as he meant to me.
He texted and I went to him, the fact enraged me. I clenched my fists and waited for him to answer my knock. He opened the door and I was a deer caught in the headlights of his gaze.
Before I could make a move, take the reins of my fate, I was drawn into his arms. One hand behind my neck, one hand at my hip, and his lips on mine. Rough, demanding, determined lips settled on mine before I could say anything. A surprise squeak sounded from the back of my throat, as I melted into his embrace. The soft sensitive skin of my face abused by his facial hair, and oh God, I welcomed it. His fingers persistently gripped the back of my neck, pulling me further into him. His other arm wrapped around my waist, his tall frame arching down to meet me, his body pressed impossibly into mine.
Bodily he lifted me off my feet, his mouth fused to mine, and closed the door behind me. In no time, I was pushed against it. I almost had the gumption and self-control to push him away until his mouth was on mine - until he opened the door. I was defenseless, I couldn’t fight my customary response to him, my Tom. My hands found purchase on his wide shoulders, the cotton covered muscles rippling under the pads of my fingers. The hand at my neck dropped and moved to my front. He pressed a sure steadfast grip against my center. I gasped loudly, throwing my head back against the wood of the door.
Hiding his face at the curve of my neck, he growled, “Abigail.” In preparation, he laved a spot to sink his teeth into. As his fingers teased and goaded me down below, he sucked the sensitive skin, marking me, showing me his claim over me. Drowning in my feelings and lust for this man, I encouraged the branding of my skin, angling my head and clasping his head to my neck.
Possessively Tom moved that hand from my center to touch me directly. He slipped one finger between the lips of my moist swollen sex. Involuntarily my hips ground into the brush of contact, seeking more. As he played, his tongue licked along his mark on my skin, worshiping it. He slipped another finger into me as I become one with the door keeping me on my feet. “So wet, Abby… so wet, so tight,” he murmured into my mouth before sliding his tongue in.
He took his hand away from me to unbuckle and unzip his trousers. In record time, he relieved both of us of every scrap of clothing in his doorway. He picked me up, face to face, eyes locked on eyes, and I clasped my legs around his waist. He carried me to his bedroom, exchanging small random kisses along the way, our eyes bonded to each other.
In his room, he lowered and placed me on the bed gingerly. He bent over me, his feet rooted to the floor, his elbows on the mattress by my shoulders. With a small peck, he positioned his cock at my entrance and easily slid into me. Fully encased within me, we remained unmoving. I never wanted to forget that moment, both of us laid bare, vulnerable and open to each other.
He whispered, “Watch, Abigail. Watch how we fit, darling.”
We both looked between us where our bodies were joined. Tom eased back, pulling almost all the way out of me, before slowly sinking back in. The most erotic, intimate, and true moments of my life was watching our bodies as they were meant to be. Mirrors were one thing, experiencing it visually was quite another. I watched longer than Tom as his fingers eased my chin up for another passionate kiss.
From the time apart and the intense companionship of those instances together, we came apart together in a blink of an eye. In rapture, I believed that I found my peace, my spot of heaven on Earth. I wanted to laugh and cry, but I was too consumed by the moment to do anything but be with him.
We remained tangled around each other, in comfortable silence until his mobile rang in the other room. He kissed me briefly and padded into the other room completely naked. I assumed that I was staying the night and started to find my spot under the covers. I could hear Tom chatting into his mobile in the living room.
“Hey,” followed by his signature laugh. “Yeah?” Pause. “Oh, excellent…” Longer pause. “No, no, it’s amazing! What do you have for me?” Pause. “When is it?” Pause. “How much? Where?” Longer pause. “No, no. I’m not busy. Yeah, send it over, I’ll look it over in few minutes.” He laughed again. “I can do that. Remind me though please.”
And there it was again! I cursed everything and everybody as I hoisted myself from the bed. I was about to be dismissed again. This man had the power to make the feel the highest high and the lowest low within a matter of minutes. I gave that power to him willingly every time. When was this ever going to be about me?
Like a whirlwind motivated by bitterness, I tore out of Tom’s bedroom into his hallway to find my clothes. As I was angrily shoving my limbs back into the material of my clothes, Tom asked, “Where are you going, Abby?”
I forced myself not to look at him, afraid that if I did, I would reveal too much. “Back to my flat.”
“I thought you might stay for the evening.” He tried to reach out and touch my arm but I stepped away swiftly. “We can spend all night in bed.”
“Not interested in that.” I shrugged into my bra and hooked it in the back.
“Abby, what’s happened? Why are you angry with me?”
I scoffed, venom running through my bloodstream. I really had to get out of there before the tears of frustration and pain arrived. “I have to go.” I shrugged into my t-shirt and pulled on my overcoat.
“Will you come back tomorrow?”
“No, I have a date tomorrow night,” I spat at him. I yanked the door open and stepped out into the arctic December weather, hoping to freeze the hurt so I didn’t have to feel it.