"Whoa, hello!" Tom half shouted when he felt your bare foot slip up between his thighs. He gave you a playful grin followed by a disapproving scowl when the rest of the family began to file out of the kitchen to join you at the dining table.
Christmas was a big affair at the Hiddleston house, and Tom was the center of attention more often than not when his mother urged him to tell another story about his days on the set. He had been filming a made for television Shakespeare adaptation for a few weeks, and there was no shortage of interesting tales up his jacketed sleeves.
He glanced up at you from his pint, as he took a long drag of the dark ale. You instinctively blushed at the disguised emotion in his eyes, and he jumped when you made contact with his inner thigh again. A few drops of ale spilled on the linen table cloth and he mopped it up quickly with a napkin, apologizing to his sister, who took an elbow to the rib. She leaned over and hugged him around the shoulders, teasing him for “having a hole in his mouth” and you felt his legs clamp together to keep her from discovering your foot in his lap.
He shot a wide-eyed look your way and you couldn’t stop the giggle that burst out. Everyone merely assumed you were laughing at his clumsiness, when it was the way he adjusted the linen over himself that had you snickering.
You patiently waited for the moments when he was distracted by conversation or quietly chewing his food, each time testing his reaction when you brushed up against his crotch. He was good at hiding it, but you soon felt him hardening at your touch. Before long, he was gripping the edge of the table and focusing on keeping his eyes from rolling back as you slid up and down the length of his now prominent erection.
When he met your eyes again, you were prepared with a finger swiped through the whipped cream which floated at the top of your hot chocolate. You brought it to your mouth, leaving a sloppy speck of cream on your lower lip as you pulled your finger back out with a pop.
His mouth dropped open when you licked your bottom lip. Slow and torturous and unabashedly sexual as you raised one manicured eyebrow. Tom shrugged his jacket off and quickly excused himself from the table. Smart move, holding it in front of him that way, you thought.
His sister rolled her eyes and smiled goofily at you. You simply shrugged and said, “Can’t hold his liquor.”
"He never could," she laughed.
"I’ll go check on him," you winked, and left the table.
"What the fuck are you trying to do to me?" he hissed when you found him on the other side of the staircase. The hallway was dark but his green eyes shone brightly with a mixture of lust and embarrassment.
"Just having some fun is all," you crooned innocently and backed against the stairwell as he cornered you.
"Try to have a little less, darling. I was one more finger lick away from blowing a load at the table," he said, hushing ever more as he spoke. He reached for your hips and pulled you tight against him as he spun you into the nearby closet and shut the door. "You started it, now you have to finish it," he whispered, and you heard the distinct sound of a belt and zipper in the dark. "I can’t go back out there like this."
He emphasized his sincerity by taking your hand and shoving it between your bodies to wrap around his straining cock. You squeezed him tight and gave him a few good pumps of your fist before he finally let out a ragged moan.
"Be quiet, babe. You don’t want Santa to come find us fucking in the broom closet, do you?"
He laughed once through his nose and dragged his hands up your arms, to your neck, and finally to your face so that he could properly claim your lips in a heart stopping kiss.
Your hand stilled when his tongue stroked against your lips, parting them and opening you up to his exploration. He thrust into your grip as he caught your bottom lip and scraped his teeth along it until it snapped back into place.
"Take these off," he huffed, and pulled at your trousers. You let go of him and shoved them down your legs, along with your underwear. No sooner had you stood straight again, did he have you back up against the shelving at the rear of the closet. It dug into your ass, middle back, and shoulder blades.
He nudged your legs apart and reached down to hook beneath your knee, hoisting one leg high on his hip. You buried your face in his neck to muffle the cry that was sure to escape, but he had different plans and tugged at your hair, arching your neck back so that he could lick a hot path up the curve of your throat just as he entered your wet heat.
You let out a predictable yelp and impassioned whine at the intrusion, letting his hard length stretch and fill you to the brim. He smiled against your cheek, and nipped at your ear when you slapped a hand over your mouth.
"Now where is the fun in that?" he asked, giving a sharp thrust, the shelves biting at your backside. He peeled away your hand and held it at your side. "You should learn to keep quiet if you don’t want to get caught." He punctuated the end of his sentence with another brutal thrust, surging up into you with no warning. You panted his name and a string of apologies but he was having none of it.
It was his turn to make you squirm, and force you to stay silent while he punished you. His hips slammed into yours, shaking the walls and rattling the items stacked behind you.
Every movement shoved you toward the goal. Breaths were getting difficult to manage as he went deeper and harder, until you were clinging desperately to each other as you finally came.
His remarkable control had him only grunting softly against your neck, but you cursed at your failed attempt to contain the strangled cry that ripped its way out.
He parted from you, catching his breath and balance as he leaned against the adjacent wall.
"Merry fucking Christmas," he said through a tired laugh.