A/N: 18+

NSFW

Not my usual.

Eh, just something stoopid that came to me a couple weeks ago.

Supposed to be a one shot, but there was clamoring for more.

My hands were elbow deep in dishwater, wearing those ugly, neon yellow dishwashing gloves while the jam packed dishwasher hummed happily beside me. Luckily, this was pretty much the end of my part of the evening. Luke had asked me to cook some of his favorite things for a small party he was throwing and it seemed as if everything had gone over really well.

I was in the middle of the washing up when someone burst through the door. I barely looked up from the task at hand until I heard him say, "There's my girl! I didn't realize he had you chained to the sink like Cinderella or I'd've come in here to rescue you earlier. I've been looking for you all night."

An unbidden - frankly unwelcome - warmth suffused my body. Tom. Something within me both relaxed and tightened at the same time. I'd wondered where he was, too, not that I would ever say anything like that to him. The man had a healthy enough ego; he didn't need me to confess to him that I'd been waiting to see him all night, too - even if that was the bare truth of it.

But I couldn't stop a huge, idiotic grin from spreading across my face at his words, part of me wishing fervently that I really was his girl, but the other parts - louder, more insistent parts - were equally terrified of that prospect.

"Hi, Tom!" How original. Any tween fangirl could have said that to him, and probably in a less pathetic tone. I rolled my eyes at myself but at the same time, I couldn't stop myself from turning as much as the dishwater would allow to drink him in in his - of course - ridiculously gorgeous blue suit covering his ridiculously gorgeous self - longish, ginger hair, that beard that made me want to run my hand over his jaw just to feel the texture of it against my sensitive palms - was it soft like his hair was sure to be or coarse, like his I'd imagined his baker's dozen chest hairs were? - and those almost painfully vivid eyes, that just this minute settled - with all of the considerable weight of his singular attention - on me.

Wearing a beauteous smile that put my brainless one to shame, he came to stand entirely too close to me for my comfort, crossing his arms over his impressive chest and leaning his hip against the sink, so close his all too noticeable bulge was pressing against my hip, and I could feel my lower body contract at that stark realization.

Uncharacteristically nervous around him - as always - I felt the urgent need to say something as he stared down at me. "I can't hug or kiss you 'cause my hands are otherwise occupied, but feel free to do either - or both," I couldn't resist adding, knowing full well that he'd feel completely free to do exactly that.

Only I didn't realize to what extent he was going to take my invitation or I would probably never have issued it.

Probably.

He levered himself languidly away from the counter and came to stand very close behind me, so that I was pressed against the counter and effectively trapped by his presence behind me. Those magnificently long arms wrapped firmly around me, coming to rest just barely beneath my breasts, making my nipples peak immediately just from their close proximity - and pulling me even further back to plaster me to him. His mouth was at my ear and I could smell the Jameson on his breath, along with strong hints of apple and cinnamon - he must've had one of my tarts.

"You smell luscious," he rumbled into my ear as he nuzzled it, then leaned down just a tad to kiss the spot just behind it, making me shiver in his arms and drop the saucer I had just been washing into the soapy water. "What scent are you wearing?"

"Uh . . . Dawn Dishwashing Liquid?" I quipped, brainless enough from the way he was touching me that I couldn't come up with the name of the perfume I'd put on before the party if he held a gun to my head - instead of his loaded cock to the small of my back.

He gave me no choice but to follow the dictates of those sure hands as he turned me around, so close that I couldn't help but feel the swell of his desire behind the fly of his suit pants as it continued to press urgently into me, nudging my tummy quite insistently.

I held my useless hands out, well away from the both of us as they dripped onto the otherwise spotless floor. "Tom, stop that! I don't want to get you wet -"

I barely recognized the deep, raspy bass in which he answered, nose pressed to mine, so close our eyelashes were practically colliding, "I definitelycan't say the same thing, love."

If my face got any hotter it was going to burst into flames.

And then he did it - what he'd been threatening to do for a while now, teasing me with it, mentioning it when it was sure to make me blush, promising me in Loki's voice as he held tight to my hand while we were saying goodbye each time, not allowing me to reclaim it until he'd said what he wanted to - that one day he wasn't going to allow himself to consider what I'd said I wanted - an affectionate but platonic relationship with him - and instead he was going to do what he thought I wanted and kiss me until my clothes melted right off me.

It was more than a promise and only slightly less than a threat, and it looked as if he was going to make good on it right now.

One arm wrapped itself around my waist - insurance against the idea that I might try to fight him or put up any kind of a struggle - his other hand - large but infinitely gentle - came up to capture my chin, refusing to allow me to continue staring at some innocuous spot on the floor but tenderly raising it so that my eyes melded together at the very same moment our lips did the same thing.

The effect was electrifying.

It was as if I'd never been kissed before - it was totally due to the fact that it was him and the newness of it, the sharp relief that was his lips slanting slowly across mine, which blossomed beneath tender pressure and were rewarded by the slow, steady rise of his palms up my sides until they hovered above but didn't rest on breasts that should have been covered by a bra, but I'd been running late and I hadn't bothered, completely forgetting about my overly affectionate friend.

Or . . . maybe not forgetting, quite . . .

Removing his hands and noting with a soft smile how I mewled, he murmured against my lips as he nipped and nibbled at them. "Do you want me to touch you?"

Completely unable to reign in the very primitive desires this man stirred in my mind - much less in my person - I sighed, "Holy bloody fucking Mother of God, please, yes!"

He smiled at my unbridled enthusiasm, but it was a tight one, one that revealed just how far gone he was himself.

I was still holding my hands well away from him, not wanting to drop sudsy water on his as always impeccable suit, but when those sure palms slipped down over the front of my pretty cotton peasant blouse then up beneath it, the material pooling at his wrists as he stared directly into my eyes, those startlingly blue ones of his widening when, at last, he took full possession of that vulnerable flesh, his touch just right gentle-firm as my eyes fluttered shut on a deep, soft groan.

Suddenly, a particularly loud voice floated through the door, jarring the both of us and reminding us that - despite how private our little hideaway seemed - there was a party going on just outside its walls.

"Screw this," Tom said, tugging my gloves off then grabbing my hand to pull me into what I knew was the pantry. I already knew it had a lock on the outside of the door, but I hadn't noticed there was one on the inside until Tom followed me through it then turned to throw the bolt home before rounding on me, his chin down, eyes so intently locked on me that I took a step back, mirroring his steps forward as he stalked me into the dark recesses of the big room.

I knew I was going to run into a wall of neatly shelved canned goods at any moment and so did he, so I simply stopped backing up and let him run right into me. What the hell was I running from, anyway? The man was everlastingly beautiful - he couldn't be ugly if he tried. I practically came in my pants every time I so much as saw him - which was becoming more and more frequent the closer I got to Luke.

Why delay the inevitable? my body whispered demandingly.

INSECURITIES! my mind screeched its inevitable alarm of an answer.

FUCK THAT, AND FUCK HIM! my body roared back.

Unaware of the war that was raging within me, Tom caught up to me with one big stride, his hands resuming their intimate exploration of breasts that swelled and pressed themselves into his touch, nipples that were already hard and tightened even more as long, masculine fingers grazed over them teasingly.

Then he reached for the hem of my blouse and my hands automatically stayed his.

He gave me a surprised look, waiting for me to release him. After a few long seconds, he used his hold on my blouse to pull me against him, his lips finding mine as he whispered, "I want to tug at your nipples with my mouth. I want to flick the tips, and raze them with my teeth -"

Dear God, I wanted that, too, more than anything I'd ever wanted in my life.

But my brain won the battle for dominance - as it always did - and forcibly overrode my hormone-addled body.

Capturing his bottom lip with my teeth, I laughed softly up at him. "I have a better idea," my hands were already pulling his white dress shirt - the one with the buttons that were always working overtime to keep him covered, to every fangirl's deep disappointment - out of his pants and slidingmy palms up his sides to find and worry his nipples, watching his head fall back as he groaned, exposing that graceful, long neck of his.

Not for the first time in my life, I wished I was a vampire.

Before he had a chance to grow bored, my hands left his chest to glide - as I slowly lowered myself to my knees in front of him - down to his belt, undoing it as well as the button and zipper I found beneath it, butterflying the front of his trousers and slipping them just far enough down so that I could reach my hand into his underwear and gently - reverently - display his cock and balls.

"God damn, man!" My eyes went round - and my mouth literally watered - at the sheer size and length. "You really are packin'!"

He chuckled and gave me that "aw, shucks, ma'am" grin of his, as if he didn't know the truth of what he had, but at the same time, he turned just a bit so that he could lean back against the shelves, and I adjusted my position so that I remained directly in front of him.

And, as I continued to hold him, he just kept getting unbelievably, intimidatingly bigger.

Regardless, I was going to take my time and do this right. I didn't care if the entire herd of Luke's half in the bag, hard partying friends began to knock down the door, I was going to bring this man off - and, if I did things right, make him scream when he finally came.

It would be a memory I would cherish all my life - not to mention something I'd cum to myself probably every time I thought of it. The idea of being able to bring him - the smartest, sexiest man I knew - to orgasm with my mouth, and especially to make him lose control enough actually scream from it - well, I was going to achieve my goal if I had to die trying.

The first thing I did was to lean forward to bury my entire face in his junk, inhaling deeply, loudly, so that he knew exactly what I was doing. I love that man smell. Leather was good, a small amount of sweat was okay, colognes were nice, but nothing beat the true scent of a man.

My reward was immediate - his indrawn breath, and then the way he relaxed beneath me, his hand coming down to cup the back of my head and cradle it there for a long moment, my hot breath blowing directly onto him.

I moved back to bring my hands up and cup all of him, which wasn't easy - not using both hands wasn't an option, and he continued to grow and overflow both of my palms. When I finally let him go, his cock sprang eagerly up, seeking my warmth again.

There was more than one precious drop of liquid at the very tip of him that I reached out to slowly lick away - luxuriating in this tiny taste of him - and he began to groan the moment my wet flesh found his.

"Quiet, Tom," I chided softly, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.

He had thrown back that gorgeous head of his, but he snapped it forward at my command. "Yes, Mistress," he whispered, his eyes rapt on mine.

Positioning the tip right at my lips but not between them - yet - I asked, "Do you want me to take your cock in my mouth, Thomas?", my lips grazing the most sensitive point on his throbbing dick with every word.

"Fuck yes!" exploded out of his mouth, then more shakily but quietly, "I mean, yes, please, Mistress."

"You don't have to call me that, Tom. I'm not your Mistress. I'm just someone with a true appreciation for you and this gorgeous instrument of yours."

He looked a bit distressed at what I'd said, which was the opposite of my intention. "I - I - I don't know what -"

Softly, "Stop talking, Tom. Just feel."

Then, as I gently cupped and rolled his balls, I slid every inch of him into my mouth and partially down my throat, at first having to consciously remind my body to relax, that this was a welcome invader, and my reflexive attempt to close my throat halted immediately.

I wiggled my tongue along the underside of him while he lay in my mouth and then I excruciatingly slowly began to pull him out, with great reluctance, my lips and tongue clinging to him, licking and flicking him, keeping my mouth tight around every bit of him until he was entirely free of me but remained pressed against my lips until I kissed my way down to his balls as my hand continued to stroke his length.

Each of them was thoroughly washed, then as completely surrounded by my mouth as his cock had been, gently suckling and flicking as I could hear his breathing become more and more labored.

And I'd only just begun.

On a hunch, as I worked my way back to his cock, I looked up at him and said, "Don't cum, Tom."

"What?" I had managed to surprise him.

"Do you need me to quote Right Said Fred? I mean hold back as long as you can. Take your time. Enjoy it. This is something I adore doing, so don't hurry on my account."

"But the party -"

"Fuck 'em." I looked up at him and caught his eyes, letting all of my feelings for him show on my face for the first - and probably the only - time in my life. Softly, I continued, "It's just you and me, Tom. Nothing and no one else matters."

With that, while keeping my eyes on his for as long as I could, I pursed my lips very tightly and begin to press my mouth over him - no hands at all - as if I was rolling my lips over him like a condom, keeping them as tight to him as they could physically get, egged on by Tom's long, guttural moan.

When I could slide forward no further, my nose buried in the taut muscles of his lower belly, I began to rise again the same way, dragging my mouth up him bit by bit, flicking my tongue along him at the same time, and repeating the trip as soon as his tip cleared my lips again. always making him have to break through my lips and into the warm wet embrace of my mouth.

Despite what I'd encouraged him to do, he sounded very, very close already - he was panting as if he was at the end of a run up a mountain, moaning constantly, his hips trying to disrupt my rhythm with his own, hands buried in my hair, wrecking the bun I'd carefully constructed to keep my hair out of my way, but who cared? If he wanted to pull it out by the roots, that would have been be fine with me.

Eventually I began to shorten my efforts until my mouth and tongue concentrated solely on the very tip of him while my hands went to work on his shaft, using my generously slickened trail to begin a rhythm that started out as a slow walk, but ended up running.

Because I could see that he was about to lose control, I thrust my hand down my own pants to gather some of my own juices onto the tip of my pinky finger, my free hand coaxing him away from the shelves and then, just seconds before the point where I knew he was going to cum, I pressed my pinky finger into his bottom - not too far, just enough to add a sensation that he apparently liked, because he did scream, as I had wanted him to, cumming immediately down the back of my throat in long, creamy spurts that I swallowed eagerly.

He seemed to spasm for a very long time, and I kept him in my mouth as he began to recede and before he even knew what was happening, I removed my little invader. His hand rested on top of my head as he leaned back against the shelves again, his legs shaking with the effort of remaining standing.

I took that as a huge compliment.

There was a stool - one meant to help short people reach the higher shelves - folded in one corner, and I opened it for Tom and helped him to sit on it, worried that he was going to pass out on me completely.

When I would have gone to wash my hand, he grabbed the other one - thankfully - and I realized that he was shaking all over.

"No one - no one's -" He cleared his throat and tried again. "No one's ever done that to me. I've had -" he blushed - "well, a fair amount of blow jobs in my time." His eyes found mine. "But that was . . . " he chuckled and blushed again. "I have no words. Can you believe it? Me, unable to articulate something?"

I pressed a kiss to his lips and said, "You were amazing. I just need to visit the bathroom for a moment to . . . wash up."

He looked confused for a second, then another, even more neon blush. "Yes, yes, of course."

I patted his still shaking leg. "I'll be right back."

Luckily, the loo wasn't far and no one even seemed to notice me - they were all much too far gone. I was back in seconds, and Tom was right where I left him.

"Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so. I tried to get up to adjust my clothes and had to sit back down again."

I had made Tom Hiddleston, a man who prided himself on being in top physical shape, weak in the knees. It was going to take quite some time for that to sink in. I laughed softly. "I bet you had quite a bit of the drink before you came to see me. You deserved to." This party was in celebration of the very successful run of Coriolanus.

His response was alarmingly serious, and his relaxed demeanor evaporated. "Don't you believe that for a moment. I could drink most people under the table. The reason my knees are weak - as they have been for about six months now - " which was as long as I'd known him - "can be laid entirely at your cute little feet, and absolutely nowhere else."

It was my turn to blush.

"And, as soon as I'm able, I'll return the favor."

Uh-oh. Here it comes. The part that I dreaded the most. "Well, that's really . . . uh . . . not necessary, but thank - thank you for the off - thought."

Jeez, awkward, much?

His brow crinkled and his face was starkly disbelieving as his mouth opened just slightly, yet the bastard still managed to look as if he was fit for the cover of Vogue - which was one of the reasons why I was saying what I was saying.

"Are you turning me down?"

I was staring at my feet, at the expensive penne pasta in the pretty brass and glass container, anywhere but at him. "I just . . . would rather not . . . here . . . " That's right. That'll work. Let him think it's the setting and not me and the fact that I'd rather be Torquemada's bottom bitch than let him ever, ever, ever see me naked.

He looked around a bit himself and realized - perhaps for the first time - where we really were. "Ah. Yes. This is hardly the optimal setting for our first time together. You're right." Tom reached out and caught my hand, bringing its palm to his lips as he stared into my eyes in that way he had that let you know - in a secret, silent way - that he had never met a woman who was as smart, as funny, or as gorgeous as you were, right there, right then. "You deserve much, much better than this. I'll book us a room at the Savoy. We'll spend this weekend getting to know each other muchbetter."

I carefully remained entirely non-committal. I could ignore the shit out of pretty much anyone or anything. "Well, I think your body's telling you you've had enough partying for the evening and you should take a cab home."

"You could come with . . . "

"I have to finish cleaning up here, and I'm staying the night with Luke." Not that Luke knew that at this very moment, but not that he'd mind, either.

As reluctant as he sounded - and he did sound very reluctant - he let me help him out of the pantry, then out of the kitchen. Luke saw us and came over to help - he was pretty sober, considering, and acted surprised that I wasn't helping Tom get home as he let the tall man lean on him for a change.

"I still have clean up to do and then I'm staying here tonight." I said, putting my finger over my lips immediately at him and praying he wouldn't ask too many questions.

You are? he mouthed at me, but thankfully didn't say out loud.

I nodded.

"Okay, well, let's get you home, mate." Luke made a few gestures at me before they left, the gist of which was that he intended that we were going to have a talk when he got home.

I returned to the relative safety - now that Tom was gone - of the kitchen, picked up and donned the ugly yellow gloves from where they'd landed on the floor when Tom had practically ripped them off me and became Cinderella again, only my Prince was being driven away from me at my own behest and I knew I could never have him anyway, so I grabbed another stack of dishes and let them and my tears dilute the dishwater.