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greenorangevioletgrass · 3 years

Text

crash course (t.h.)

masterlist | ko-fi?

pairing: tom holland x bi!musician!reader

summary: fresh out of a breakup, tom moves in with his childhood best friend. she teaches him a thing or two about moving on.

word count: 6.8k (phew)

warnings: best friends to lovers, flatmates au, sexual tension, reader is a fuckgirl/chaotic bi, tom is an idiot, language, drinking, weed, fluff, minor angst, smut!, fingering, oral (m/f), protected sex, dirty talk, bro talk lol

song inspo: hozier - moment's silence / john mayer - in your atmosphere / harry styles - woman / lianne la havas - courage / billie eilish - when the party's over

notes: soooo it was based on this ask but it turned into... a monster lmao. i absolutely love y/n here; she's like a combination of harry styles, st. vincent, hozier, and john mayer and i hope you enjoy it!

***

After a rigorous nine-month long shoot and a tough breakup after a two-year relationship, Tom feels like he’s due for a fresh start. He’s had enough of wallowing in his parents’ house, taking Tessa on long quiet walks at the park, and taking the piss out of his brothers at home. No more of that. He needs to be somewhere different. New.

Hence why he’s taken his car and his stuff to this newish apartment complex in Battersea. (And yes, he’s aware that it’s only a half-hour ride from his family home. But it’s more of a… mental distance more than anything else.)

And there she is, like the most constant thing in his life, standing at the curb in her old grey hoodie and ratty sneakers, with a smile she’s always sported for as long as he’s known her. For a moment, he doesn’t feel all that nervous about this impulsive move.

“Tommy Shelby!” Y/N exclaims as he gets out of the car.

“Not my name,” he deadpans, but hugs her anyway.

She pats him squarely on the back and gives him a brief kiss on the cheek. “I know it’s not. How are you, man?”

“Honestly? Meh.” he pulls away, grimacing. “But I’ll live. Come on, help me get my stuff up.”

She follows him to the boot of his car, surprised and confused by what’s in it. Two suitcases, a duffel bag, and two boxes. All this for a whole-ass international movie star in a multibillion dollar franchise.

“This it? What are you, a student?”

“Are you kidding? I got my golf clubs, too. Do you think I was raised in a barn?” Tom shoots her a funny look as he takes out the suitcases and slings the duffel bag across his shoulder. “You take these, I’ll get the boxes.”

That’s how their relationship has always been. They met back in BRIT School, right around the age where girls and boys can’t be seen together without the rest of the class thinking they’re together, so they established a very 'bro-y' friendship. Funny quips and borderline mean insults to veil just how much they care about each other. First as friends, and then--

Life takes them into different directions. Tom's movies take him all around the world, and Y/N is busy making her own name in the music industry, as a singer/songwriter and producer. Their daily exchanges turn into semi-regular catch-ups and occasional run-ins at events. So, when they bumped into each other at a Tesco three weeks ago and Tom moaned about living at home, it was a no-brainer for Y/N to offer her spare bedroom for him.

Nevermind the fact that her childhood crush is resurfacing and she needs to find a way to get over it.

“You sure you can still see what’s in front of you? What with this… tall stack you’re carrying?” she grins, knocking the top of the box playfully, leading him out of the elevator.

He scoffs at her dramatically, following her into the hallway. “Shut up, I’mma kick you in the shin.”

“Alright, little soldier boy. Here it is!” she welcomes him into the flat, throwing her key into the bowl on the console table.

He drops the boxes next to where Y/N leaves his luggage, by the door. The light blue sofa faces the TV, flanked by a mint green armchair and a red round ottoman. Her digital piano sits on one corner, her guitars adorning the wall, while the other side opens up to a kitchen/dining area with a balcony. The shelves are sparsely filled with books and picture frames and awards, and Tom feels less like he’s intruding on someone else’s living space.

"Mi casa es su casa. Literally,” Y/N says with an easy smile.

He stands in the middle of the bedroom-- his new bedroom. The sun streams in from a floor-to-ceiling window, and he’s thankful for the view of the nearby park. The double bed is flanked by built-in wardrobes and a desk, with two rows of bookshelves over it. The room is sparsely decorated, save for a few tasteful black-and-white photos of tulips and calla lilies on the wall. She leaves him alone to unpack, saying something about a welcoming party as she walks out.

The welcoming ‘party,’ as it turns out, is attended by them and them alone, sitting on the living room couch with pizza, beer, and a joint. It’s a remnant of simpler times, of all-night movie marathons and video games. And a stark reminder of growing up, given how comfortably drunk and high they are.

It’s one hell of a nice evening.

"You seem a lot more comfortable under the influence than I remember." she observes him take a puff, struggling to stop staring at his delicate lips over the haze.

"I've gotten a lot more accustomed to it over the years," he brings it back up to his lips one more time. "'m not that kid who freaked out about one puff for a whole hour anymore.”

“No, you’re not.” Y/N laughs, her head laid on the seat of the couch, near his broad shoulder. “You were a bigger pain in the ass high than you were sober back then. How is that even possible?”

And with that, he laughs wryly. “I think I’m an even bigger pain now, moping about for a whole month after my girlfriend dumped me-- thanks for taking me in, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it,” she brushes him off. “I’m pretty happy to have you… slummin’ it here with me.”

“I wouldn’t call this ‘slumming’, really.” he looks around at the sleek light fixtures, fancy TV, feeling the soft, fluffy fabric of the sofa underneath his hand… stopping just an inch from her back. "You seem to be doing alright for yourself."

"Well…" she shrugs somewhat sheepishly. Truth be told, she has been doing pretty well. A sleeper hit album, a successful tour across Europe...

"Aren't you?" he looks deep into her eyes. For a moment, the humor fades out; there's just soft, genuine concern in his features. She can feel his arm around her shoulders, solid and reassuring.

And God, it melts her like hot knife on fucking butter.

"It's just…" she takes the joint from him and takes a deep drag. "It can get a bit lonely sometimes. I mean, I'm sure you know how it feels."

"Oh, yeah. All too well."

"Mm. One minute, you're in a hall so crowded, you can barely hear yourself think. And then you come back to your hotel room or your flat and then it's just… dead silence. It's nice to have some company." she smiles softly.

"Well, say no more. You got company right here.” he rests his head on her shoulder, all snug and comfy.

She leans back into him and sighs, the animal documentary playing on TV feels fuzzy and distant. The weed grows faint, the beer tepid. And the company… she just hopes the company doesn’t drift away as quickly.

***

They fall into an easy routine in no time. Tom wakes up early, goes on a morning run or a round of golf, and whips up some breakfast-- sometimes a fancy French toast, and other times just… jam on toast. Y/N usually rolls out of bed from the sweet smell, and Tom is always more than happy to make enough for both of them.

"Ugh, can you just be my malewife forever, please?" she mutters one morning, half-asleep as she takes a bite of Tom's homemade raspberry waffles. "You can quit acting and just… do this."

He hums into his tea. "I don't think you can afford me as a trophy husband."

She pauses, as if making budget calculations in her head. "Yeah, you're right. I can never compete with that Marvel money."

"Sorry, love.” Tom smiles, looking not sorry at all.

"Shame. Would’ve loved to see you rockin’ aprons and… hoovering around the house all day.” she hums into her coffee this time.

During the day, they would do their own thing. Y/N would write music on her piano, mix tracks in her little workspace in her room, or occasionally go out to a proper recording studio to work. And Tom would… he would do whatever new hobby he decided to pick up. Meditate, journal, read a book (as much as his attention span allows him anyway), paint, watch a movie, puzzle, woodwork...

Y/N comes home one afternoon to Tom sitting on their balcony floor, the sound of sandpaper against wood filling the air. The back of his plain white t-shirt is stained with sweat, and she wonders how long he’s been at this.

"Honey, I’m home! Make me a sandwich!” she hollers into the flat in a saccharine sweet voice.

Tom didn’t even look up; he just replies knowingly, “Kindly fuck a duck.”

She leans against the glass door, curiously eyeing the planks of wood of various sizes spread all around him. (That's a lie, she's completely eyeing the ripples of Tom's back muscles doing manual labor.)

Of course, he’s much too focused to provide any further explanations, so she prods on, "Whatcha up to, you sexy lumberjack?"

“Making a little shelf for your...” he gestures at the array of pots and terrariums on the other corner of the balcony, “...green babies.”

“Aww, cool! Thanks, man. Just don’t forget to clean up all the grit, yeah?”

“You got it, boss lady.”

It must be a strange sight to see him transform into a basic bitch, he’s sure of it, but he’s grateful that she doesn’t say anything. Truth be told, she seems to be unfazed in whatever weird shit he does in the slightest.

That's not to say that she isn't supportive-- she is, just not through coddling words of encouragement. What she does do is treat him as normal as one would, as if he’s always done this-- and occasionally join him. Casually helps out with his puzzles when she’s taking a break from her work. Buys new essential oils for the diffuser and meditates with him. Park herself next to him on the couch with some beer or crisps and watch (or heckle) the movie, especially if it’s something obscure and artsy. And truth be told, it is refreshing as fuck.

“So…” Y/N speaks up, not even three minutes into Paterson. “Is this movie basically just… Adam Driver living up to his name?”

“Huh?”

“Because he’s-- you know... a driver.” she motions at the screen, which shows his character driving a bus, fighting back a dumb grin.

Tom groaned. “Are you for real?”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. The guy’s…” she tilts her head to the side as she studies the man on the screen. “...strangely hot. He looks like he’s into some freaky shit.”

“I don’t need to know that,” he shudders.

“You’re just jealous that I’m thinking of boning--”

“Shh! Shut up, you’re making me miss what they’re saying!” he puts his whole palm over her laughing face, shoving her away while she snuggles closer into him.

And in the evenings, they would have dinner. Tom cooks mostly; he has the time now, and it gives him a chance to experiment on new recipes. It doesn't always work (like that one time when his chicken noodle soup tastes like seawater), but when that happens, they're always happy to get takeouts and a few beers.

And occasionally, Y/N would drag him to the pub or whatever venue she's playing in. Just to get some fresh air. Interact with the outside world.

Maybe meet someone.

He tries to convince her it’s not necessary. He’s more than happy to sit back, nurse his pint, and enjoy her set. The melody she sings is soulful, but the guitar riffs she plays matches the heart beyond what words can convey. And her band follows her lead; the steady rhythmic guitar, the thumping bass, the banging drums-- a gritty, bluesy sound against the absolutely ethereal backing vocals. It’s a bit hard to believe that she’s singing a song about oral sex, so riddled with religious allegories, but the way she plays it… he can’t imagine it being anything else.

“Like a heathen clung to its homily, let the reason come on the common tongue of your loving me. So summon on the pearl rosary. Let the reason come on the common tongue of your loving me…”

It comes to no surprise at all that she has all kinds of girls and boys chatting her up after her set. And she’s so fucking good at that, too.

“Seriously? That’s amazing!” Y/N beams at this petite blonde who came up to her at the bar. “I’m absolutely hopeless at all that. But my friend Tom here... hey, Tom!”

Tom turns toward the girls with a friendly wave.

“Tom does absolutely everything-- gymnastics, aerial, martial arts… you name it,” Y/N smoothly segues the conversation into a three-way. “Tom, this is Bailey. Bailey, Tom.”

“It’s not as impressive as it sounds. I’m not an Olympian or anything,” Tom bashfully smiles as he shakes her hand.

“I somehow don’t believe that,” she quirks an eyebrow playfully, like she recognized him but doesn’t wanna make it weird. “I think you’re being very modest.”

He laughs, catching how Bailey sizes him up. And he sizes her back up, too. Her greenish eyes and her little black dress and her pastel nail art… and in the background, Y/N subtly raising her glass and nodding in approval, slowly pulling back from the conversation so they could get to know each other better.

She might just be the most perfect flatmate he's ever had.

Well.

Almost perfect.

***

The first time it happened, he thought it was an honest mistake. She hasn't had any flatmates since she moved into this place, so she probably didn't know just how well sound travels through these apparently thin walls. She just carries on having loud sex with the girl she brought home that night.

And he's not even annoyed by her. If anything, he’s impressed because it sounds like Y/N is rocking the absolute socks off this girl. He could hear her whimpers rising up and winding down, over and over again. Over his friend’s warm laughters that turned into velvety moans. Coming together in an erratic duet of euphoric cries of release. Tom would be lying if he wasn't the slightest bit turned on.

"Oh, my God, Y/N, please give it to me, I can’t take it anymore!"

The girl in question said something indiscernible through the walls, followed by a sharp SMACK!

And Tom simply teases Y/N in the morning with a knowing smirk. “Hot date?”

Y/N, as freakishly rowdy and obscene she is in bed, didn’t kiss and tell.

The second time it happened, Tom began to suspect that’s simply how she fucks. His electric drill was whirring into planks of wood as he installed new shelves, but even that couldn't drown out Y/N's signature airy moans and the deep growls of her partner-- some guy she’d met in Amsterdam last year. At first he thought they were taking advantage of the mechanical noise. But he stopped, and he swore they started fucking even louder.

And he gets it. There's something inherently alluring about her. It's not just her music. Even in a crop top and jeans, she oozes sex appeal. The spotlight hits her smooth skin, beads of sweat rolling down her neck like crystals. Fingers expertly working the strings, glossy lips hovering over her mic almost like she’s making out with it… one can't help but imagine how good she is with her hands and mouth.

Tom would take this to the grave, but he totally retreated into the shower and jerked off to the fantasy of her mouth on his cock, like the song she sings about. He wonders if she could elicit those sounds from him, too.

He aimed his orgasm at the wall and just stood there under the shower, letting the droplets ricochet on his back with the ultimate realization.

This is fucked up, Tom. You’re in a weird funk and jacking off to your flatmate fucking some random guy in the other room. You need to get laid.

The next time they went out, less than a week later, he’s determined not to end up alone at the end of the night. Halfway through his third pint, a girl sat next to him and discreetly leaned his way.

“Don’t freak out, but… people are staring at you. And don’t worry, I checked; you don’t have toilet paper stuck on your trousers.”

“Thanks for looking out for me,” he chuckled, partly in relief, looking up at the girl in question.

“I'm Brooke, by the way." she offered her hand.

She's pretty cute, with wavy blonde hair down to her shoulders and dark brown eyes that seem kind. She didn't seem to recognize him either --or if she did, she wasn't very affected by it. And for that, he's willing to see how this goes.

"I'm Tom." he shook on it. "Can I buy you a drink, Brooke?"

“That’d be… really nice.”

She turned out to be nice, too. A nurse who works long shifts and has no time to catch up to the hype of the MCU, for which Tom is insanely grateful-- it's much easier to flirt when the other person didn't have any preconceived notions about him. Loves Richard Curtis movies and comedy panel shows. Has the sense of humor to show for it, too.

Somewhere along the way, he caught Y/N’s gaze from across the room as she performed her solo acoustic set. He subtly tilted his head towards Brooke, who had her back turned towards the bar, flashing a hopeful smile towards his friend.

“I’m gonna steer clear, or burn up in your atmosphere. I’m gonna steer clear, ‘cause I’d die if I saw you, I’d die if I didn’t see you...” she crooned, soft and wistful, in lieu of her usual witty smirk.

They locked eyes for a split second, he felt like she was singing straight to him. The pub suddenly cleared out, the distance closed between them, and she might as well be a breath away from him. And he didn’t know what to make of it. What the hell was she trying to say? That she wanted him but she couldn’t?

The moment was gone as quickly as it started, and Y/N looked out to the audience. It’s incredibly subtle, but Tom could see her switch back into performing mode.

“Think I’m gonna stay, gonna stay in the gray.” she looked out into the distance. “All the streetlights say never mind, never mind. And the canyon lights say never mind. Sunset says we see this all the time. Never mind, never you mind.”

The crowd’s cheers and applause were like a fresh slap in Tom’s face, awaking him from his thoughts. He’s imagining things, he’s sure of it. Y/N has been nothing but a good friend through this ordeal and he’s reading too much into the smallest things she does. That’s not fair. Brooke was right there with him and she deserved his undivided attention. So he turned to her and said,

"Do you wanna get out of here?"

They were enjoying themselves. She was pretty vanilla, all tender kisses and quiet sighs, which Tom didn’t mind at all. He kind of liked it that way. No fancy stuff, no adventurous kinks that pose a lot of risks, no pretense that this is anything more than it looks like… it was just that.

Nice.

Well.

Up until they were done, but the couple in the next room… wasn't. It was a uniquely awkward thing to lie there with ragged breaths and inadvertently listen to more intense, ragged breaths through the wall. And frankly, it made Tom second guess just how much Brooke really enjoyed herself.

He sighed, annoyed. "I'm really sorry. My flatmate is... I swear to God--"

"It's okay," she waved him off, sitting up from Tom’s arm. "I think I should go, though."

"Oh." his eyes followed her around the room, gathering her discarded clothes. Putting her shoes back on. Shuffling around to find her purse.

Tom kissed her goodnight at the front door, and then simply threw himself back into bed, deflated. Blindly reaching for his AirPods to keep out all the commotion --he’s been telling himself he’s not annoyed, but maybe now he is.

Just a little.

Partly at his roommate, for ruining a perfectly nice evening with a perfectly nice girl. And maybe, just maybe, at himself for briefly thinking Y/N was giving him time of day like that.

And he is fully planning to set things straight first thing in the morning.

***

Y/N wakes up cranky.

She’s had one too many drinks after her little solo set-- partly from the rush of testing out new unreleased songs, partly from annoyance that Tom bailed on her mid-performance. But mostly from that split second she may have revealed too much to Tom.

Oh, the scene plays out so clearly even amidst her persistent hangover. The harsh jet of water from the shower does nothing to obscure the memory of his dumb smile, fading away as he caught her in a moment of brutal honesty. I’d die if I saw you, I’d die if I didn’t see you. He saw it, and dipped. With that pretty blonde, no less.

She shuffles into the kitchen, hoping to get her coffee without bumping into him. But, of course, Tom's already beat her to it and hands over a fresh brew in her favorite 'let’s keep the dumbfuckery to a minimum' cup.

"You are godsend. I love you so much," she murmurs, her voice low and raspy in the morning.

"You talkin' to me or the coffee?"

"The coffee," she answers immediately, still managing to maintain the facade. "But you're alright too."

"Gee, thanks."

She sips her coffee in silence. "How'd it go with, um… the blonde girl last night?"

He stretches his arm, muscles flexing right before her eyes. "Brooke? It was good. Didn't stay the night, though. Figured it was a bit too loud too--"

Before Tom could finish giving her shade, he stops at the sound of approaching footsteps from her room. Y/N turns, finding a girl walking this way. Her yellow dress and warm smile are bright against her stunning dark skin. She remembers how wonderful she was last night --sweet and eager and right in more ways than one. But now her presence just feels… out of place.

"I had a great time last night." she leans down to give Y/N a long, hard kiss, and Tom makes it a point to mind his own fucking business and not make any eye contact, busying himself with his tea.

Y/N pulls away, gently tucks a few strands of the girl’s box braids behind her ear. "Alright, darling. I'll see you around?"

"See you." she steps back with a wave, but then stops in her tracks when her eyes catch Tom’s.

Oh, no. Tom knows that look. She clocked him. And the last thing he wants is to get recognized in his own home by his flatmate's hookup at 8 in the fucking morning.

"Hey, aren't you--"

"Tom Holland? Yeah, he gets that a lot," Y/N smoothly intercepts. "This is Nick Miller...ton. My friend Nick Millerton. Nicky, this is Lana."

"What’s the craic, darling?" Tom greets her in an Irish accent, taking a whole two seconds to realize how dumb he must have sounded, and how much it's killing Y/N to stay cool.

"Sorry, I thought…" she responds from her spot, somewhat embarrassed by her 'mistake.' "Anyway. Bye, guys."

They smile and wave until the door shuts behind her. Click, and then their heads whip toward each other.

"Nick Millerton? You've been watching too much New Girl," he scoffs at her.

"Oh, and giving yourself an Irish accent is a good idea?" she retorts. "You sound like a walking stereotype!"

"Well, jokes on you because I've been sitting down this whole time!"

Y/N burst out laughing, and just like that, the tension between them has died down. It’s that easy.

And as quickly as it crashes in, as quickly it fades away, and soon enough, they’re left with a heavy silence.

Tom puts his mug down, trying to play it off casually. "So... I suppose things went well with Lana?"

She mutters behind her coffee cup, "You can say that."

"Oh, come on! We both know that's an understatement." Tom cries impatiently, then pauses thoughtfully. "How do you even make 'em sound like that?"

"It's really just about… paying attention. Figure out what works, and work it. You're an actor, you get it." You’ve played pretend and pleased an audience, she thinks.

"I mean, I like to think I'm alright, but those girls… shit. What are you, a pussy whisperer or something?"

She chuckles, absentmindedly opening her Twitter. "I can teach you if you want."

And just like that, a hush falls over the room. Tom just stares at her. Trying to process what she really just offered him. He's not even sure what she offered. And somehow, the first thing that comes out of his mouth is,

"I… didn't even know you liked me like that."

And Y/N softens. Quiets down. And there he caught her again. One of those moments of brutal honesty. And Y/N figures if she plays it cool and nonchalant, he would drop it.

"You walk around the house half-naked, sweaty, looking like that, painting and woodworking and shit… 'course I'm attracted to you.” she shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

But Tom knows her too well. He sees right through her and presses on. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You were getting over a relationship! I didn’t wanna make things more complicated for you.”

“So you just… keep bringing all these random people to shag?”

“I gotta channel all that energy somewhere, right?”

There’s no denying, no charming her way into an excuse anymore. Not only has she been pining over her long-time best friend, she also has a batshit way of coping with it. She can see the gears turning in his head, and once it clicks, it’s over for her.

No more company. No more friend, probably.

Tom slowly leans back into his chair, choosing his words carefully as he speaks his mind, "I've... always been into you, too. Like, since school, if you can believe it.”

“What?”

“Why’d you think I freaked out so much when I got high the first time? I was worried I might… slip and say that I’m head over balls in love with you,” he admits, his eyes stubbornly glued to his clasped hands.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she echoes his exact question not even five minutes ago.

He shakes his head, staring far out the window. “I don’t know. We’re friends… I just thought-- I don’t wanna make things complicated between us.”

It’s fucking hilarious to hear it back, and Y/N can’t help but laugh. Her whole face lights up and there’s no way Tom could go another second without being infected by her mirth. Their eyes meet again --voluntarily honest, for the first time. The warmth of their friendship somewhat cloaks them, but not quite. There’s an air of… newness over them.

“Oh God…” Y/N rubs the bridge of her nose. “So what now?”

The boy is quiet for a moment, giving it a good thought. “I mean, we can finish our breakfast or… we can, you know, go back to bed. Together.”

The cocky glint in his eyes is back, and she stares for a moment, wondering how much he meant it. “Would you like to?” she tilts her head to the side inquisitively.

"Well… yeah,” he admits in earnest.

She puts down her cup, making a soft thunk against the table. "Let's go, then."

Y/N truly brings out the best and the worst of him. Tom’s nervousness is now overshadowed by the strong desire to prove her wrong. Wrong about what, he’s not entirely sure.

He squares up and looks her in the eye. "My room or yours?"

"Up to you."

"I got fresh sheets?" he offers.

"Deal.” Y/N smiles. Then, she leans in over the table as if going for a kiss, making Tom’s heart leap out of his chest, and stops a breath away. “Race you to your room.”

She may be quick in her banters, but Tom is quicker in his movement. Within a few strides, he manages to wrap his arms around her waist, giggling like a maniac as he turns her around. They’re already breathless from laughing, the warmth emanating from each other akin to a part of their own. And when their lips finally touch, it takes an extra three seconds for it to really sink in.

He tastes sweet and earthy. Of black tea and honey. His lips are as soft as she imagined him to be, although he kisses a little rougher than he looks, mouth hungrily chasing hers. And how could he not? This unbelievable, impossible girl is melting into his kiss, all too glad to let him take her into bed.

He pushes her into bed, stares at her sprawled up on the mattress as he takes off his ratty t-shirt, climbing on top of her with a newfound gusto.

But when he closes in on her, she smiles. “I win.”

“Huh?”

“Told you I’d race you to your bed, right?”

“Maybe I let you win. Make it fair.” he nuzzles her nose, nipping at her lower lip.

"Why, because you're gonna lose?" she’s quick to capture his lip between her teeth.

He rolls his eyes. "Exactly, so just let me have this, alright?”

“Ugh, fine,” she dramatically groans, throwing herself back into bed.

He swerves down to her neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses down the side. His finger tread the line where her bare skin meets the fluffy bathrobe, following its path to the knot on her torso. With one tug, he unveils her bare body like a newly minted sculpture.

“Holy fuck." his big brown eyes impossibly darken at the sight of your tits. "I waited ten years to make a move on you?”

She humphs. “You and me both, bro.”

“Don’t call me ‘bro’ in bed.”

“Gotcha.” Y/N nods along, pulling him in for another kiss.

He loves how filthy her kisses are. Tongue laving into his mouth, nose clashing into his, teeth biting at his lower lip. Tom is both scared and horny for what comes next.

He pulls away, brows furrowed in curiosity. “I do mean it, though. How do you make ‘em sound like that?”

“Why? You got more girls to bang after this?” Y/N smirks playfully.

“No, there’s just this one girl… heard she’s pretty good in bed, so I wanna show her a good time," he pouts, playing up his boyish charms as he draws patterns on her hip.

“Nice.” she grins at him, not so much flattered as she is amused by his efforts.

“Thank you, I try.”

“Well, I told you it’s all about figuring out what she likes.” she toys with his curls, twirling it around her fingers. “So… why don’t you go ahead and find out?”

And with that, off he roams all over her chest. Marking his trail with kisses all the way to the swell of her breast. The hitch in her breath doesn't go amiss when he sucks a pert nipple, nor does the little moan when he pinches the other. He nips at the hardened, dusky brown thing and she moans. Crystal clear on his ear, as opposed to distant echoes through the walls.

"Ooh, you like it rough, don't you?" His face lights up like a fucking naughty boy with a new toy.

She smiles blissfully, giving his hair a firm tug. Sure enough, his eyes close and mouth opens in pleasure.

"Apparently, so do you," she retorts, not missing a beat, feeling his erection with her thigh. "Go on, off you pop."

He feigns annoyance, pushing her thigh aside and pinning it down with his own so she's spread wide open. His hand glides down between her legs and nearly slips from the wetness.

Their eyes meet --openly, deliberately- and he watches her eyelids grow heavy as he massages her swollen clit. Her sharp, keen eyes glaze over as he rubs faster. Presses harder. He watches her jaw drop as he slides a long, thick finger inside of her.

"Fuck!" she rolls her hips as he pumps into her, one finger and then another. Shamelessly showing how much pleasure she gets from his massive hand.

And through it all, she watches him, too. She watches the frown between his eyebrows as he concentrates on finding the right rhythm, right vibe for her. The dirty glint in his eyes when he makes her twist and turn. The half-lidded, slack-jawed look he's sporting as she arches into his scissoring hand with no shame.

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop…" she rambles on feverishly, eyes rolling back as her orgasm looms near.

And he doesn't. With his thumb on her clit and two fingers pumping in and out of her pussy, he watches her come undone --twisting and turning and moaning, all from this. From him.

And he doesn't stop. Not until she's literally jolting from the touch and squirming away from him.

"Jesus Christ, you're pretty as fuck," Tom pulls away, eyes glazed with wonder as he licks his wet, sticky fingers clean.

Y/N will have to get used to these compliments, because right now, she could feel the warmth creeping up on her cheeks. "Stop it."

He blushes, growing hot himself. "So how'd I do?" he sidles up next to her and gathers her into his chest.

"Not bad…" she can't resist the temptation to fuck with him. "I'll give you a B plus."

"B plus?!" he gasps, tickling your side until you're absolutely wheezing and crying for mercy.

"Alright, fine!" Y/N swats his hand away. "A minus. Because you're insufferable."

"Sure, you don't look like you're enjoying yourself much…" he rolls his eyes, a lighthearted smile tugs on a corner of his lips and she can't resist kissing him then.

"Want me to show you how it's done?" she quirks an eyebrow.

"Do you worst." He's all too happy to let her get on top, watching her shrug off the bathrobe.

Gosh, what a sight is she to behold. Perched on his lap with wild tousled hair and kiss-worn lips like some forest fae. Ready to enchant him. Or curse him.

Either way, he'd die a happy man.

Her mouth is everywhere. She takes the time experimenting how she kisses, licks, and bites him. Slow and thorough. It drives him mad, really.

"Fuckin' hell, Y/N…"

"Hmm?" she mouths at his earlobe, her voice seems to surge right into his dick, all light and airy and deceivingly innocent.

He groans, unable to voice what he wants. He's not even sure what it is he wants. He just wants… more.

She rubs him through his sweatpants and he couldn't buck into her touch fast enough.

"Is this where you want me?" she murmurs into his neck.

But her mouth latches onto his skin, warm and soft with an edge at the same time, and he couldn't shake off the idea of it on his hard length.

"Fucking suck me off," he mutters, "Please."

She pulls away, and he's not sure if she's gonna indulge him right away or mess with him some more. "Well. Since you asked so nicely…"

Y/N tugs his pants down and bites back a grin when his dick slaps onto his stomach, eager to get out of its restraints.

Tom's heartbeat echoes right on his eardrums. His clothes and bedsheets might as well rustle like foil wraps to him as reality sets in. She straddles his thigh and puts a steady hand on the base of his cock. This is really happening.

A moment's silence as she puts her mouth on him.

She is every bit as sensual as she is with her kisses. Slobbering along his shaft with the underside of her tongue, tasting the leaking pre-cum on his tip, taking his whole length down her throat… His surroundings fade to black; in that moment, there's no thin walls, no decorum, no fucking pretense anymore.

"Holy fuck, Y/N, feels so fucking good--" he groans as she pulls back and sinks back in around him.

"So fucking mouthy," she chuckles lazily.

The vibrations from her voice make him thrust into her mouth, one two three times before she gags. But instead of pushing away from him, she grabs his ass, nail digging into his skin as she controls his movement.

She's so good, so warm, so… tight around him that his brain short-circuits. For a hot second, the only thing on his mind is coming inside her, before he realizes he hasn't even been inside her.

"Wait, wait, wait…" Tom slurs, tugging her hair back, her mouth emptied of his cock with a pop. "Don't-- wanna be inside you when I come."

"You were inside me."

"No, not your mouth," he all but whines, "Your, uh…"

"My what?" she challenges, catching the way he blushes. "Say it."

"Your cunt." There’s a bite to how he says it and it’s truthfully hot as fuck.

Y/N smirks, smug and devilish, as she crawls over to his bedside drawer for a condom. Behind her, Tom greedily nips at her hip, hand trailing up her inner thigh to find her soaking cleft once more.

"Where the fuck is your-- oh!" she gasps, feeling his mouth on her pussy, gripping the edge of his drawer at the shock.

The search for the condom is halted as Tom shifts the focus on her cunt. He grabs her hips and eats her out from behind, tracing out new patterns on her clit and her slit as she bends down on all fours. She’s absolutely dripping out of her core, and he can’t get enough. She tastes so good, and she sounds even better, trembling through her second orgasm.

“Check under my Advil and sleeping mask.” He bites at the swell of her butt cheek and lets her off.

She turns toward him with a surprised and dirty look. "Aren't you a surprise."

"Still think I'm a B plus?"

"A minus," she corrected. "And we'll see how your dick game goes first, bro."

He catches the condom she throws his way. "Stop calling me bro, it's such a boner killer."

"I don't think it is, bro." she grins as she straddles his hips, feeling his very much persistent boner between their stomachs.

Tom smacks her thigh in response.

"Alright, alright. Take it easy, buddy."

"Buddy?! Fuck y--" his words are cut off with a moan as Y/N sinks down on his cock with absolutely zero warning.

She revels in the pleasant burn of his cock stretching her walls. He fills her up so well-- no amount of toys or fingers or imagination could ever compare. It just feels different. It feels… like Tom.

"You were saying?" she raises an eyebrow.

"Shut the fuck up." He grabs the back of her head and gives her a bruising kiss as she starts to bounce on his beautiful, curving length.

She laughs, which makes her clench around him tighter. He throws his head back and pulls her closer, moaning in her ear. Mouth crassly seeking her tits. Finding himself lost in her catch and release.

God, what bliss.

He matches the motion of her hips with every thrust. Hitting the deepest parts of her even she never knew before. And the words cease. No quips. No banter. Their mouths are too occupied with more pressing-- more carnal matters. Just unrestrained, unapologetic cries of pleasure, released into the still, morning air. Heat building up as their pace grows more erratic.

Y/N grabs a handful of his hair as Tom hits her sweet spot and rubs her swollen little nub. Again and again and again until they're completely shrouded in waves of pleasure coursing through their veins. Cock and cunt pulsating in unison.

"Holy fuck." Tom's the first to speak up, arms still wrapped around Y/N, who's currently flopped on top of him. "No wonder those people you brought home would go screaming their tits off."

She smiles lazily, looking up at him. "I think we both got game."

He matches her dopey grin and gives her a crisp high-five and a hearty kiss. Things will be just fine between them.

***

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