The chair creaked in protest as you spun on its pivot. Your mind had turned a blank today. Nothing was transporting from your mind onto the page before you. "Damn writer's block!" you cursed. Distracted again, you fiddled with Tom's shirt you wore. It was a soft, baby blue; overly long on the sleeves, and baggy on your shoulders. It only just covered your underwear. It was too hot today to be fully dressed, a rarity in rainy, old England.
Tom had woken early to get to the set, but he'd left a note and a cooked breakfast under your flat's grill, keeping it warm in repentance for leaving you. Tom made the best full English. You'd woken up, groggy, and a tiny bit sore from last night. After untangling yourself from the sheets, you had made a sheet-toga, Sherlock style, for yourself. The heat seemed to have amplified so you'd dived into the shower. When you'd finally emerged from the once-bathroom-now-sauna, you had slipped on some underwear and your favourite shirt of Tom's, and sat down to write.
The clock behind you kept up with its incessant ticking, counting all the wasted seconds of your day. "Ugh." you groaned. That was it, you thought, it just wasn't gonna happen today. You logged off the computer and stepped out of the chair. You turned around, looked up and jumped. He was standing there. "Sorry," he said, in his rich, velvety voice, "I didn't mean to startle you!"
You smiled sheepishly. He crossed the room in three brisk strides, until he was just millimetres away from you, arms linked around your waist, holding you against his body. He glanced behind you at the blackened screen. "Any luck?"
"Not even a single letter." You grumbled sullenly. You had a deadline that was fast approaching for this book, but the words just wouldn't come.
"Don't worry. I'm sure tomorrow you'll have nigh on finished it!" he chuckled. Tom loved your stories, whether they be absolute crap or absolutely fantastic. Normally, you hated having your work read out loud, but Tom always insisted. You'd pretend to be annoyed, and grimace every time he uttered a syllable, but secretly, you just used it as an excuse to listen to his heavenly voice. Just listening to him could turn you on. You broke your train of thought: "So how was work?"
"Ok. We've got a few scenes out the way, but Chris wants to retake one, probably a flimsy excuse like the lighting was too bad or something." A touch of frustration edged his voice. "A perfectionist director is good for a movie, but tiring for the actors." he announced. He sighed, mocking weariness, and you bridged the gap between the two of you and kissed him lightly on the lips. You broke off and as you stared into the deep pools of his eyes, he whispered to you. "I haven't been myself today."
"No?" you responded as he tickled your neck with his lips.
"All day I've been thinking about you…and what I want to do to you." You looked down at him, meeting his gaze, and saw a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. He kissed your neck, trailing his lips along your jaw line. "What do you say we go have a little fun?" he murmured seductively.
"Don't you mean a lot of fun?" you whisper back, a cheeky note in your tone. Tom saw that as a sign and seized you, holding you in his strong arms. You cried out in surprise but this soon turned to giggles. He carried you into the next room and laid you down, gently, onto the bed, and then started undoing his shirt and trousers. With only his boxers remaining, he crawled along the mattress until he rested above you, leaning on his elbows. You stared into each others eyes then he dipped his head and kissed you; slowly at first, then faster. You slid your hands along his back, feeling the muscles coil under your touch. Your hands then made their way into his soft hair, playing with the silky strands. Tom lowered his head, laying a trail of kisses down your throat. You gasped slightly as he kissed your collarbone. He smiled at this. With each kiss downwards, he undid a button on your shirt, like a countdown. When he had finished, he looked up slightly, trailing a path with his eyes, over every inch of your body. You peeled the sides of the shirt back, letting the gap just hint at what's underneath. He smiled. One that reached all the way to his eyes, making the corners crinkle. "You are the most beautiful women I have ever had the good fortune to meet." You blushed and he bent his head down, suckling the skin between your breasts. You moaned and he intensified. With one hand he held your leg against his body, curling it around his arse. With the other he cupped and gently massaged a breast, kissing you deeply. You both moaned as he started rubbing his crotch against you, asking, pleading for a 'yes.'
"Do you want to?" he asked politely, still moving against you.
"Yes, oh god yes" you replied. He smiled a devilish grin and pulled down your pants as you pulled down his. Just as he had begun to line himself up and enter you, a sudden, loud buzzing noise filled the air. You both froze. Realisation dawned on you both and you sighed, angrily. The buzzing proceeded again, shorter, and then repeated, impatiently. It was Wilf, the idiot who lived below you and who always locked himself out of his apartment. He wanted to be buzzed in. Tom pulled up reluctantly, letting you sit up. "I swear, if that boy locks himself out once more..!" He got up, his naked arse facing you as he walked to the intercom. He pressed the button. "Yes Wilf?" he asked exasperatedly.
"Err, hi Mr Hiddleston, I've, err, locked myself out again, sorreee!"
"Alright, I'll buzz you in" Tom sighed. He pressed the button and Wilf let out a short 'thanks!' before he left the intercom.
Tom turned around, shaking his head. He looked up at you lying on the bed, expectantly.
"Sorry." he apologized. "Now, where were we?" he asked and he made his way back onto the bed.