TITLE: Censorship



CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: One Shot



AUTHOR: phoesy



WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor Tom



GENRE: Fluff/Erotica



FIC SUMMARY: Tom’s OFC girlfriend (whose name should just be Darling, really) swears in front of him for the first time. Turns out Tom loves to hear dirty words from a pretty mouth. Shenanigans ensue.



RATING: M, for swearing, obviously and for sex.



AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: I’ve never written RPF before, or erotica actually, so some feedback would be nice. this was really fun to write, hope you enjoy! :)

You were just starting in on the cucumbers when you heard Tom come in the door; the shuffle of his shoes against the doormat, the thump as he pulled them off his feet and dropped them to the floor. You stayed right where you at the kitchen counter. Tom was a big fan of ‘surprising’ you.

On cue, he softly made his way down the hallways towards the kitchen, his feet making muted beats on the hardwood floors. You put down the knife just in time.

Tom poked his long fingers into your sides and you jumped because surprised or not, you were ticklish around your tummy. In an apologetic gesture, he slipped his arms around your torso and gave you a quick squeeze. His stubble rubbed against your jaw as he nuzzled your neck, and you both breathed in each other for a moment; he smelled like rain and cologne and man. You inhaled deeply and giggled.

“Well, hello.”

“Mmm,” he hummed against your skin, “what’re you making?”

His voice was weary and soft as it curled around the shell of your ear. It must have been a long day of press again. You leaned back on the planes of his chest.

“Greek salad?” You replied, gesturing with your chin towards the assorted ingredients on the counter—bell peppers, onion, feta cheese, tomatoes, etc. “I thought we might try something Mediterranean. Or quasi-Mediterranean.”

“Sounds lovely,” Tom murmured. He pressed a kiss to the skin between your shoulder and your neck before he released you. The cool air was no replacement for his body. You grumbled your disapproval.

He slipped his frame into one of the kitchen chairs, stretching his limbs languorously across the space. He really was all arms and legs. Not that you were complaining.

Thankfully he was rubbing his eyes while you perused his body like a beggar at a feast, otherwise you never would have heard the end of it. When he looked back up at you, you had resumed chopping the cucumber, expression chaste.

Tom was dressed in his interview apparel: white V-neck, slim jeans, shiny brown shoes. Since it was a little bit chilly this morning, he’d pulled on an old black cardigan that on anyone else would have looked outright raggedy; you knew from personal experience.

Even in his casual clothes, he made you feel pretty dressed-down, in your oversized fisherman’s sweater and leggings. It was your day off, though; you were allowed to be comfortable. And he hardly minded.

“Penny for your thoughts, darling?” Tom asked, his arm over the back of the chair, hand absently combing through his russet-coloured hair.

“Well,” you start, turning away to cut the cucumber into quarters, “I was thinking it’s pretty ridiculous how good you look in that cardigan.”

“Oh?” Tom’s eyes widened playfully, his lips on the verge of a grin.

“Seriously. You know, once, when I was young and naïve, I tried to wear that cardigan.”

“Tried?”

“Oh yeah. As soon as I put it on, I turned into the bag lady that had stumbled into your apartment searching for her lost cat.”

Tom giggled, and when you scrunched up your features into a crazed look, he outright laughed. With each breath you watched the day’s exhaustion ebb out of him. Making Tom laugh was one of your favourite activities, and one of the most rewarding.

“Darling, you know I think you look good in anything,” he said sincerely, because he honestly did. Which was kind of silly, and you voiced that opinion by sticking your tongue out at him.

“Or nothing,” he added, his tone dropping. You pulled your tongue back into your mouth quick as lightning.

But you were inevitably distracted by Tom and his stupid face and long legs and deep voice, and ended up cutting into your own fingertip shallowly. You hissed in a breath, dropped the knife.

“Fucker!”

Clutching your bleeding finger in your other hand, you became aware of the sudden silence that fell over the kitchen. After a moment’s pause, you realized why.

You’d never said a swear word in front of Tom before. That was not to say you didn’t cuss; you used words like ‘dang’ and ‘gosh’ and ‘flip’ ironically as swears, in what had started as a joke and just evolved into your vocabulary. In 3 months of dating, you hadn’t really cussed in front of him; it was something he teased you about, a little inside joke between you.

The look on Tom’s face was pure shock: his clear blue eyes were round with astonishment; his mouth, slack-jawed. Oh, such a drama queen. You tried to play off the moment by rolling your eyes as you stuck your finger under the faucet, but it didn’t work.

“Excuse me?” Tom was on his feet beside you, his face the picture of the cat that had caught the canary. He quickly glanced to see if the cut was shallow, and assured that you were not gravely injured, returned to his entertainment.

“What?” You said in a tone not nearly as annoyed as you wanted it to be.

“Did I just hear you say fucker?” His accent curled around the word as he emphasized it. Of course his tongue loved the word. Tom loved all words very much; being a Shakespeare fan girl and all that. He also swore quite often in his private life with you, a slight departure from his public, polite persona.

“Maybe.” You looked at him from the corner of your eye.

His expression was bright with amusement. There was playfulness in Tom’s character, and it was quickly making itself known. “See love, I was under the impression you didn’t swear. Ever.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not true.”

Placing one hand on your hip and the other on the counter, you turned your body toward him in a commanding stance. Your wound had sealed, but the battle had just begun.

Tom crossed his arms. “Darling.”

“This mouth is as clean as a whistle. Nothing dirty has ever passed these lips.”

He broke out into a lecherous grin. “Well that’s not quite true, is it, sweetheart?”

“Tom!” You smacked his arm as your face flushed with color. “You—!”

His eyes widened.

“Fucker!” You finished, saying the word with as much verve as you could possibly fit into two syllables.

Again, Tom’s jaw dropped in delight. He stepped in closer to you, looked at your face down the slope of his nose. “Say it again.”

“Fucker. Fuck. Shit.” The words were suddenly a release from the monotony of your passé ‘gosh-dangit’ vocabulary. It also helped that every time you spoke them, Tom grew more and more entranced.

You raised your arms to cross around the back of his neck, and swayed forwards so you leaned against him. Pushing up on your tiptoes, you brushed your lips against his ear. His breath hitched.

“Bugger!” You barked and jumped away from him, laughing.

When you saw the look on his face—an odd combination of wonder and lust—you laughed even harder, your breath coming out in sharp little wheezes.

“Bugger!” You called again, in your best imitation of his accent. It was a word Tom was fond of; you heard it when he stubbed his toe or turned on the cold in the shower by accident. As a result, you had heard it in nearly every enunciation. And now, saying it in your voice, with your horrible mimic accent, there was nothing funnier.

Tom was laughing too, his shoulders shaking up and down. But his eyes betrayed him, like always. They were more dilated than usual.

Oh, my God. Tom would so totally be turned on by this— you’re shocked you didn’t think of it before. Cucumbers and wounded fingers forgotten you raced around to the other side of the kitchen table. Tom watched you move with a bewildered expression: normally he was the friskier of the two of you, and obviously he was not expecting you to act the role.

“Tom, I’ve never said a cuss in my whole fucking life.”

He moved towards your side of the round table, and you dodged away from him. His mouth was twisted up into a little determined smirk.

“Shit. Oh, that’s a good one,” you said as you narrowly avoided the fingers of his hand as he reached for you.

There was some immaturity to what you were doing, and you were fully aware. This was very much middle school behaviour. But, man, was it fun.

“Bloody fucking hell!” You started laughing again. British phrases sounded so silly in your accent.

Tom chuckled around the lip he was biting. His chest stretched against the fabric of the shirt as he tried to match your movements, and you were mesmerized for a moment. While you were distracted, he lunged forwards, and so very nearly caught your hand, but you twisted away at the last possible second.

“Too fucking slow!” You jeered and dashed away from him into the hallway. The beat of your heart was rushing in your ears, and the giddiness of the moment made your head feel light. It was just all-together too funny.

The thump of his footsteps lit a fire under your ass and you scrambled for the stairs. Tom’s legs were notoriously long, and you were no match, but you had a head start on your side. You pulled yourself up the steps two at a time and leaped onto the landing. He was close behind.

You headed for the obvious endpoint of the race: the bedroom. Just as you cleared the door, he tackled you from behind on to the king bed. You collapsed into a fit of giggles.

The muscles of Tom’s torso were rigid as they racked with laughter, and you wiggled back against him. He released you enough so that you could spin around and face him. He propped himself up on his elbows to hover over your face. For a moment you just shared a look with him, as the laughter faded and something else bloomed in its departure.

“If I’d known you had such a dirty mouth…” he began.

“You’d what?”

“I’d never let you stop talking.” He leaned down and kissed you softly, his skin warm from the previous exercise. Your lips pulled into a smile mid-smooch.

“Nobody has any right to sound that sexy when they swear, darling.” He purred into your neck, moving his head to place warm kisses along your jawline. You wiggled upwards, pressing into his hips. The heat of his body drew you to him like a moth to a flame.

“Tom…” You hummed as you traced circles on his back with your fingertips. The tone of your voice caused him to look up at you in concern. “Fuck me?”

The pupils of his eyes swallowed up his irises, and he dove forward and caught your lips with his own. You could feel the mark of his arousal pressed hard into your thigh, and the feeling sent a bolt of pleasure to your center.

You moaned gently into his mouth, clawing at his cardigan, annoyed at the layers between you and his body. Tom’s hands left your body briefly and then the cardigan and V-neck beneath were tossed to the floor. After the slight pause in action, you took the initiative to roll your bodies so that you were on top of him.

Gravity and lust pushed your center down on top of his hardness; the jeans gave you a delicious texture to rub against. The material of your leggings was awfully thin and you could feel every seam in his pants. With exploratory fingers you moved your hands over his chest, occasionally tweaking a nipple. Tom was content to let you grind on him for a moment, his hands settling on your hips possessively. He groaned.

“Feels so fucking good,” his voice was rough and his hands followed suit; he pulled his hands upwards and your sweater was suddenly off your skin and thrown across the room. You shivered, but not because of the cold.

Tom sat up and wrapped his arms around you, his kisses hot and open-mouthed as they trailed along your collarbone. His teeth grabbed one of your bra straps and snapped it against your skin. You yelped in surprise, and then his kiss was a gentle apology on your shoulder.

His hands roamed freely along your back and unclasped your bra. The palms were burning hot as he pressed and kneaded them along your muscles, occasionally spreading down to the top of your ass.

Your bra fell away from your skin and that earned Tom’s moan of approval. Then there were his kisses, like electricity coursing through you as they dipped across your breast. He took one nipple into his mouth and the other between his finger and thumb. Your cries grew louder, needier. The intensity of your assault on his lap amplified until your body was jerking with pleasure with every hip twitch.

Tom flipped you both. Your leggings were removed with hardly a breath, and then his jeans were too after you fiddled with the zipper. Then the two of you were reduced to your underwear, panting next to one another. Tim’s cock was straining against the thin fabric of his boxer-briefs, the material wet with his precum. You licked your lips hungrily.

Tom was on top of you again, kissing quickly down your torso.

“God - you’re - so - fucking - sexy - when - you - do - that,” he said, punctuating each word with a kiss. Then he was at the top of your underwear, a silky thong that did nothing to hide your wet arousal. He pressed two fingers to the fabric and you fell backwards on the bed, sighing. It was one of those nights.

Tom kissed your inner thigh sweetly as his fingers pushed aside the thong and slipped it off your legs. Your muscles tensed with anticipation.

Another hot kiss to the tendon in your thigh and his breath ghosted along where you wanted him most. Two of his long fingers rubbed along your slit and then in one motion slipped inside of you, buried to the knuckle. You hissed at the sudden stretch. Tom made a guttural sound and began to work his hand in and out earnestly.

“So wet. Ma colombe.”

His passionate French only teased you further. Then his mouth was on you; his lips and tongue working in tandem to pleasure you in the most gratifying of ways. Every time he brushed your clit, your hips bucked upwards, until he spread his free arm across your tummy and pinned you to the bed.

“Tom,” you whined. His reply was a moan or a hum; either way it sent a jolt through your body with its vibrations. Your inner muscles tightened around his fingers, tried to increase the friction.

His mouth left you suddenly, and you opened your eyes in annoyance. Tom was crouched above you, his hand shaking as it dug your pleasure from you. The familiar pressure started. You gripped his bicep hard.

“I want to watch you come.” He said huskily, his voice like a growl. There was hardly any blue left in his eyes at all, his pupils had so consumed his irises in lust. You could feel his hardness pressed against your thigh as he leaned on you, ground on you.

The palm of his hand clamped down to rub against your clit as his fingers curled within you, and that was it. Your orgasm burst within you, spread through your body to curl your toes and jerk your body backwards; your inner walls pulsed around his fingers as your cry filled the room.

“Oh, fuck!”

As the orgasm faded into an afterglow, Tom slid his fingers out of you, the loss immediate. Slowly, he brought his fingers to his lips, sucking your pleasure off of them in a move that made your mouth dry. His gaze was so filled with admiration and lust that you turned your face, trying to hide your already flaming cheeks. But he couldn’t allow that.

Gently, he lifted your chin with his hand and caught your lips in his. You could taste yourself on him, and the realization reignited your arousal. With hands still shaking you pushed him off of you. Tom looked confused until you pulled yourself on top of him, cupping his erection. He hissed against your neck.

You stroked him through the thin material, impressed by how hard he was. Anticipation set your heart to beating faster next to his.

“Darling, please—” he started as you moved backwards and lowered your head to his crotch. By now, you knew that all he wanted was to bury himself inside you, but you felt like he deserved a little more after that performance.

His words died in his throat as you slid his underwear down. His cock sprang upwards, straining and red. It was pretty regular in length, but lovely in its thickness. Your tongue slid slowly from the base to the tip, in the gentlest of caresses.

“Fuck. Oh, Christ.” His hand came up to fist in your hair. You made sure to keep eye contact as you closed your mouth around the head of his member and sucked.

Tom grunted and he thrust upwards, his cock bumping on the back of your throat. You gagged.

“S-sorry! Oh darling,” Tom apologized, sliding out of your mouth. “Sorry.”

You just laughed and placed a kiss on his shaft. “S'okay.”

You gripped him with your fist and returned to your work, moving your head up and down on his length, dragging your tongue with every stroke. Tom’s fist tightened and he thrust up in a controlled movement. Now he was panting, his eyes hooded, his chest flushed.

After a minute or so, he pulled you gently off him. His head popped from your mouth. You looked up quizzically. He sighed.

“You’re too bloody good at that.”

“Should we just fuck, then?” You asked.

“God, yes.”

Tom’s hands gripped your waist and in a sexy move he threw you to the middle of the bed, where you landed comfortably amongst pillows. He chased you, kissing you passionately in ways that left your lips swollen and your neck bruised. The wet head of his cock slid pressed your thigh.

“Please…” You whispered.

In response, he raised himself up and positioned himself at your opening. With one hand, he rubbed his cock along your heat. In unison, you moaned together. His dark gaze locked with yours, and you nodded. There was a brief feeling of pressure—

Then he was inside, stretching you in a way that sent tingles down your spine. Tom fell forward so that his face hovered above yours. Almost imperceptibly, his hips moved. You could feel his cock throb inside you.

“So fucking hot.” He groaned and thrust into you. “And tight—for me.”

You nodded. Your hands were clawed on his back, your hips meeting his every move. He sped up until he was pounding into you and all you could hear was the slap of his flesh against yours.

“Faster!” You scratched down his back and he arched into you. The pressure was building to a crescendo.

“Yes! You feel so fucking good. I—” he shifted the angle of his hips and you cried out. “I am consumed by you.”

The fact that he was able to say poetic things like that in the throes of passion challenged you. You wanted him incapable of speech. With a competitive vigour, you pushed his shoulders and rolled so that you were on top. Tom’s eyes flashed.

With your hands on his chest, you rode him; raising yourself up only to slam back down on to his hips. You watched as his eyes rolled back into his head. Then his large hands closed around your hips and he took control, pulling and thrusting into you. The pleasure became too much when he lowered his hand to brush his thumb along your clit.

“Oh, GOD, Tom!”

You came violently; squeezing so tight around him that he shouted out and sprang up to wrap his arms around you. You felt him bite down on your shoulder as he found his release between your inner pulses, and his cock twitched inside you. Your head lolled to rest on his shoulder, all your muscles feeling like jelly.

Tom leaned backwards with his arms still wrapped around you, so that you lay on top of him. Normally you would have felt slightly insecure about putting all your weight on him, but just then you revelled in the press of his warm skin against yours, the thump of his heart against your breast.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and you moved so that your chin was on his sternum.

His cheeks were flushed with colour, his mouth a lazy smile. The curls of his hair were arranged haphazardly and he looked stupidly dashing. His warm palms trailed down your back and gave your ass an appreciative squeeze.

“That was…”

“Lovely.” Tom finished for you, his voice all soft and content.

“Mmm.” You hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. "You know, Hiddleston, you might come to miss my family-friendly language.“

Because obviously, you were never saying a word like crap again when a word like shit served the same purpose along with the added bonus of turning Tom on.

"I doubt it. I don’t like censorship of any kind, darling.” His hands traced circles on your lower back. “What can I say? I love a dirty word in a pretty mouth.”

You rolled your eyes and lay back against his chest. “You’re such a twit,” you said affectionately.

“Only for you,” he replied, and the deep chuckle of his laughter shook through you.