Crumbs (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

Starving

A/N: Hellllllll-ooooooooo. That is all.

What do you do when the man you’ve been in love with for five years tells you that he has been waiting for you that entire time? You kiss him silly.  You lose your mind and then you kiss him silly. 

Words fail me.  More than usual.  But what’s the point of talking when you can say everything with a kiss? With a sigh? I take Tom’s hands and press them against my chest, holding him to me.  I’m afraid my heart is going to burst out of my chest, and I need him there to catch it, just in case. 

When I kiss him, I feel a deep, urgent need to have him as close as possible.  Tom presses me into the trunk of the tree, and I feel the rough bark scrape against my skin.  His arms come up, hard and unyielding on either side of me and we lock eyes for a moment before we both rush forward. 

How can I describe a kiss that I don’t even totally understand?  Everything is happening all at once, and it’s an overload of senses.  I can feel the hard, rough bark behind me.  The tree is warm with the summer air.  The air crackles with electricity.  I can hear the rain thrashing to the ground around us, making the air cool and wet.  Rain seeps through the canopy of leaves, and every once in awhile a drop falls on my hot skin.   Thunder rolls above us, and I swear it’s my heart. 

I am starving for Tom.  I have never felt so desperately in need of another person.  From the moment I met him, I knew I needed him in my life, no matter the capacity.  I convinced myself for five years that having him as my friend was good enough.  That having him as my friend was all I was good enough for.  And now, now…I need so much more than that.  If I could put into words the love I feel for this man, I would.  But now, in this moment, it is coming out in nearly tangible waves.  Physical, aching waves that I cannot stop. 

We kiss and kiss, and he has me pinned against the tree.  I grab at his shirt, his shoulders, his arms.  I can feel the muscle under the material, bunching and tensing as he holds me.  I breathe him in, and wish I could hold him there forever.  No one has ever made me feel like he makes me feel.  I trust him completely.  There are parts of him I don’t know, and perhaps don’t completely understand, but it doesn’t matter to me.  It is those spaces that make me want to be closer, that make me so comfortable around him.  Those spaces don’t scare me, for I trust that he would never hurt me.

There have been times where I wished I were someone else.  Someone prettier, someone more elegant and eloquent, someone better.  But now, in this moment, I am so happy to be me.  Because it is me that he is kissing.  It is me that has lived the past 29 years and managed to still, somehow, be blessed with knowing this man, and having him want to know me.  The emotion overwhelms me, and I push my hands through Tom’s hair, holding him to me.  I move my mouth to his jaw, and then slide down his neck.  He braces against me, his head pressed against my shoulder, letting me kiss and suck gently on his neck.  I can hear him breathing, hard and panting.  He only holds still for a second before he’s moving again, as if he can’t stay still.  He kisses me hungrily, and his hands slide up my sides, slipping under my shirt.  I arch against him, offering him whatever he wants.  Whatever he wants and it’s his.

We both freeze for a half second when his hands move up my ribs.  I can’t help but giggle, his feather light touch tickling my sensitive skin.  He grins and runs his fingers across my ribs again, making me laugh.  I grab at his hands, and press them hard against me, to stop from making me laugh.

“You’re so ticklish.” He smiles against my neck and starts kissing me again.  His hands press against my skin, and then he pulls them out from under my shirt.  Tom moves his mouth along my shoulder, and his hand comes up, tugging down the neckline of my shirt.  He trails kisses down my collar bone and stops just above where my bra starts, the lace edge peeking over the top of my shirt.  Tom slowly trails a wet, tingling line with his tongue across the swell of my breast.