#barty is loco | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

maevefiction · 6 years

Text

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 27

We touched down at Heathrow shortly after eleven PM London time, a light rain falling as we walked to the cab after rescuing our luggage. Packing had gone relatively smoothly, other than Tom trying to sneak items from my special toy drawer into whatever suitcase happened to be open whenever I turned my back. As soon as I’d remove one, another one would reappear as if it had teleported in from another dimension…the fact that I REALLY wanted to leave them all behind didn’t finally sink in for him until I loudly declared that a.) I now I had a living, breathing sex toy that was way more fun than all of them combined, b.) Amazon shipped to the UK and c.) if the TSA decided to go through my shit, which was more likely than normal because of my walking boot, I was going to take a selfie with the agent AND the toys and send it to his mother. Which was obviously more detrimental to me than to him, but Tom either didn’t register that or got caught up in the other two talking points I’d made, quickly returning all my little (and not so little) friends to their proper home.

Both of us worked through the majority of the flight, checking emails, returning calls and researching. I sent Barty and Veronica my shipping address, and Barty replied instantly, updating me on the status of the title paperwork and estate sale progress. Everything was right on track, and the eight boxes of photos that had been discovered in the garage would be sent my way once the cleaning was completed, along with any additional images that turned up.

Forty minutes after leaving the airport, our cab first slowed, then came to a stop in front of 50 York Street. I opened the curbside door and exited as Tom did the same on the opposite side, feeling as if I was in an alternate reality. Though it was very dark due to the inclement weather, the glow of the streetlamps cut through the mist to reveal a four story row home, reddish colored brick on the upper two levels, whitewashed on the lower. A short wrought iron fence delineated where the property ended and the next began, as well as protected passersby from falling into the window wells of the basement level. The exterior door was white, and the path leading to it between the gated areas was comprised of very small black and white checkered tiles.

The sound of the cab pulling away caused me to spin round, finding Tom standing amidst our piles of baggage. I’d brought two more large suitcases than I normally did and quickly went over to grab one, only to be shooed away with a grin.

“I’ve got these. Let me just open the door so you can get out of the rain first.” He jogged around me, inserted his key into the lock, turned, then pushed inward. “Here you are, milady.”

I raised both brows. “You do know that it rains in America, right?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t ruin my attempt at gallantry, woman.”

Sticking my tongue out in his general direction, I walked past him and into the vestibule. Two metal doors, painted white, were three feet in front of me, spaced ten feet or so apart, and to the far left and far right were staircases, midpoint landings all that were visible from my position. A thud as he dropped two suitcases alerted me to his presence.

“The building was split up into four sections, each with two levels. Those doors there in front of you are for the main and basement level flats, and the stairs lead to the second and third level flat entrances. We’re up the left one. Want to go up and wait for me?”

“Why not? By the time I make it to the top you’ll probably have passed me twice so I don’t think there’ll be much actual waiting happening.”

He grinned as he went back out onto the sidewalk, and I snagged a small suitcase and my carryon. Not being able to drag around my own crap was propelling me toward batshit crazy, and I managed to make it all the way to the landing before he noticed.

“Maude. What are you doing?”

I looked down at the bags. “Um, transporting luggage?”

He jogged up the stairs, and I sighed heavily as I relinquished my load. “Dude, I totally had those.”

A kiss on the tip of my nose, followed by a smack on my left ass cheek. “I know. But I’m enjoying taking care of you.”

My eyes rose skyward, arms crossed, gaze then lowering to meet his. “I’m loathe to admit that I have no rebuttal at this time. So I’ll just say thank you instead.” He smiled, tongue between his teeth, and I pointed my index finger at him. “But be aware that unless you want me to turn into a spoiled rotten lazy little beyatch, once this boot comes off you’re going to have to let me participate in physical activities again…”

His left brow rose, and I stepped forward and placed my hand gently over his mouth. “Geh. No.” I could feel the laughter beneath my palm, and as soon as I moved my hand away he leaned in to kiss me, then bolted up the next flight of stairs. Shaking my head, I kept trudging along until I reached the hallway, an area seven feet wide that extended the entire length of the building to the top of the right staircase. The street facing windows were on one side, the white apartment doors on the other, with two benches, four chairs and several potted plants and trees in between. I immediately walked to the windows, peering out and down as I traced the brick surface with my fingers. Tom stood behind me, reaching out to touch it as well.

“That’s the original brick there, and inside it’s on two outer walls, downstairs and up. But, you’ll see that soon enough. I’ll be right back…make yourself comfortable.”

I walked down the twenty feet or so to the door, marked with nothing but a brushed chrome numeral ‘3’. I traced that as well, over and over again, my mind swirling as I tried to process that I now lived at Flat 3, 50 York Street. For the second time, suitcases hitting the floor made me reminded me I wasn’t alone…though it appeared they were the last of the lot, which meant I’d been far off in the stratosphere for what must have been three other instances. He caught my hand as it fell slowly from the door, thumb rubbing the fleshy part of mine, down near my palm.

“Touchy tonight, are we?” My head tilted to the side, not comprehending what he was getting at. He smiled softly. “You’re running your fingers all over everything and it’s driving me a bit mad, Maude.”

I winked, then kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your turn.”

He shifted his hips, listing to one side, pouting. “But I want all the turns.”

“Don’t be greedy, Milton.” He tilted his head quizzically. “That’s from Office Space. There’s a birthday cake and one of the…”

Bringing my hand down, he opened it and placed the palm against his cock, half hard and twitching beneath his jeans. “You can call me whatever you’d like as long as the night comes to a close with this buried inside you.”

At that moment, the door of flat number four opened and a silver-haired woman dressed all in black stepped out into the hallway, waving and heading in our direction.

“Thomas, love, it IS you! I heard voices and thought I should perhaps investigate since you weren’t due back until morning.” As she drew closer I noted that she was in amazing shape, and I couldn’t pin down her age. Black jeans, black sleeveless mock-turtleneck, black cardigan. A silver necklace hung delicately between her small breasts, a charm of what appeared to be a frog situated in the center between two green stone beads. Her hair was shoulder length, neatly coiffed and was truly silver…incredibly elegant, highlighting a pair of deep brown eyes that looked strangely familiar.

Tom stepped forward to embrace her. “Phaedra! Lovely to see you, as always.” He leaned back, taking her in. “Not your usual working garb, is it?”

She chuckled as she released him. “No, darling. Just got back from a show at the Cube Gallery, actually. Opening night for yours truly.”

He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Really? That’s stupendous! Congratulations…long time coming, well overdue. How did it…” His voice trailed off as he turned to me, then back to her. “Ladies, please pardon my appalling lack of manners…Maude Gallagher, Phaedra Windsor. Phaedra, Maude.”

Before we had a chance to properly greet each other, I spied Luke, dressed in a white dress shirt, open at the neck, and black dress pants, peeking out of the door Phaedra had left ajar, a baffled look on his face as he first looked right, then left at us. “Mum? Who on earth are you talking…”

She rolled her eyes, exactly the way Luke did with his own, then turned her head toward him. “Hush up, won’t you, love? I’m in the middle of extending a warm welcome to your shiny new Social Media Director for fuck’s sake.”

Luke’s chin lowered to his chest as he shook his head back and forth, one hand up and waving at me. “Hello Maude. I see you’ve met my mother.” At that, I heard Simon’s voice in the distance, followed by visual confirmation of his existence as he shoved Luke aside and bolted out the door and down the hall in order to throw himself at me, his pale lilac dress shirt untucked from his charcoal grey dress pants, feet bare.

“MAAAAUUUUDDDEEE! You’re here, you’re here and I AM SO EXCITED!” His arms wrapped around me as he kissed both my cheeks, then pinched them, breath smelling of wine. “Thanks for fucking letting me know you’d be here TONIGHT instead of TOMORROW.”

I hugged him back, then let go, standing and staring at each of them in turn, finally offering my hand to Phaedra. “Hello, Phaedra. Very nice to meet you.” As she shook it, I raised the other one to shoulder height, palm up. “So, anything anyone maybe wants to…oh, I don’t know…fill me in on? Because I’m kinda absofuckingloutely clueless right about now. Either that or I’ve gone completely loco. Or I’m still on the plane and dreaming all this. Perhaps all of the above?”

No one spoke for several moments, all pondering how it was possible that I didn’t know whatever it was they weren’t telling me. Luke cleared his throat and took the plunge.

“Well…wow, I really can’t believe we were all so neglectful and never bothered to discuss any of this…”

I snorted. “In all honesty, I’m having a mild panic attack over what ELSE you may have omitted.” Phaedra laughed and released my hand.

Luke blushed, then continued. “The long and the short of it is this…Mum used to be an interior designer. She retired five years ago and took up painting and designing jewelry as hobbies in 2013 when she discovered that not being employed bored her senseless. Dad wasn’t too pleased at the amount of clutter it created, so she decided to look for space outside the family home to work in as interest in her creations grew. Simon and I were searching for a flat, and I was in the planning stages of going off on my own and starting Prosper, so we threw all our hats into the ring and found this place. It had been redone, mostly, with the flats all divided up but no rooms, kitchens or baths added and so forth. The former owner had run out of funds, so we got it at a bargain price. Simon and I finished off our flat and set up Prosper in flat two last fall, and Mum established her studio in flat one right after that.” He jerked a thumb in Tom’s direction. “He bought his portion right after we signed all the papers towards the end of May 2014 but didn’t actually move in until January of this year.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t really HOME until then, you wanker.”

I glanced at him, and when he met my gaze I knew what I’d been thinking was true…after hearing the date, it was obvious that he’d purchased this flat with something very specific in mind, something that had never come to fruition. Forcing myself to smile, I shrugged. “Well, at least I know where I work now.” I pointed at Luke. “This IS where I work, right? Because I’m totally psyched that my commute is two small flights of stairs and if you take that away from me after putting it out there I may be forced to tender my resignation effective immediately.”

Simon’s eyes widened, moving from me to Tom then back again. “Um, I’m sorry…did you just say your commute is two small flights of stairs? Is there anything YOU want to fill US in on, MAUDE?”

Turning to Tom, my face scrunched up, shoulders raised, I bit my lip then mouthed the words ‘oops, sorry’ before answering Simon’s query. Tom smirked, then leaned in to kiss the top of my head.

Simon’s arms were crossed, right bare foot tapping on the carpet. “WELL?! Come on, chickie, spill those beans.”

I froze, having not the slightest idea of how to convey what was such an incredible, life altering circumstance to us but possibly an ‘eh, so’ to anyone outside the relationship without sounding like I was a total moron. After several seemingly endless seconds, Tom came to the rescue, slipping his arm around my shoulders.

“After cohabitating for the past few weeks, I simply couldn’t imagine living apart from her. Thank my lucky stars, she feels the same way.”

My head bobbed up and down slowly, and I pointed a thumb in Tom’s direction. “Yeah. What he said.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “A simple ‘we’re moving in together’ would have done the trick, you know.” His face lit up, expression full of mischief. “You. Will. Be. My. Neighbor.” He closed the distance between us, hands on my shoulders, shaking me gently. “You’re right next DOOR and OHMYGOD SO CLOSE it’s like you’re moving in with ALL OF US. What’s that ancient American TV show? Three’s Company? We’ll be Four’s Company. I’m the pretty blonde one. Which is probably a given, but, you know. Best to be sure where things stand.”

Everyone laughed, and Luke reached for Simon, slipping his arm around his waist and pulling him away from me. “You’ll see everything tomorrow. Just come down whenever you’re ready…I’m guessing it won’t be first thing because it’s incredibly late and you’re on New York time still, plus I’m sure Tom is dying to show you your flat.”

Simon giggled. “I’m sure that’s not ALL he’s dying to show her.”

Phaedra grabbed his upper arm, giggling right along with him. “Si-mon you are so very, very BAD.”

He kissed her on the cheek. “That’s why you love me, old lady.”

She grinned and kissed him back. “Oh it most certainly is, lovey. You’re going to be the best son-in-law a mother could ask for, and you and I will be the life of the party this New Year’s, won’t we?”

He nodded, then pointed at me. “Don’t forget about Maude. Why do you think she’s my maid of honor? There. Will. Be. KARAOKE!” I hadn’t realized how sloshed they all were until Simon raised his hands in the air and began singing ‘It’s Raining Men’ at top volume and Luke slapped his ass.

Phaedra turned around and embraced me quickly, then pulled back, her hands holding my forearms. “Welcome to the insanity, darling. Good to have you here.” She kissed Luke’s cheek, then Simon’s again, then hugged Tom once more. “I’m off…probably won’t be in the studio until after the show closes next week. See you all then.”

She went back into Luke and Simon’s flat, came back out with a giant canvas bag slung over one shoulder and a bright green leather purse across her torso, then headed for the stairs, waving as she disappeared from view.

Luke and Simon bid us goodnight, and as the door closed behind them I thought I heard Simon yell something about no one being able to catch him because he was the Gingerbread Man. Shaking my head, I turned to Tom. He was staring down at the grey carpet, hands in his pockets, raising his head and smiling shyly when he realized I was looking at him.

“You know, when you said you didn’t know where you worked when we were at the deli I meant to tell you but then Mark showed up and it slipped my mind completely until I saw Phaedra…”

I held up a hand as I closed the distance between us. “Don’t give it another thought. At least it was a pleasant surprise. If I really cared I would have pressed the issue, because you obviously would have known. It’s cool. Plus I really dig the neighbors…oh. Totally sorry about giving away the whole living together thing. Thanks for bailing me out. Everything I thought about saying sounded tres stupid.” I rested my forearms on his shoulders, hands behind his neck, leaning into him. “You okay?”

His arms wound round my waist, nodding slowly. “No worries, my love. Truth be told, I wasn’t certain how to announce such a thing, or if it was even necessary to do so. I’m glad it worked out this way. And yes, I’m okay. Thanks. Do you mind if I talk about it, though?”

“Nope. Of course not. Please do.”

“It was hard, moving in here. I dragged my feet as long as I could about everything…layout, finishes, appliances, you name it. Every decision felt like a heartbreaking departure from the one I’d thought I’d be making, you know? I considered selling it, but my being here made it so much simpler for Luke to get Prosper going, not having to worry that his tenant would interfere with his clients, or make them uncomfortable, that sort of thing. And it allows me to have a greater degree of privacy, so I didn’t sell. Then I thought I’d just keep it and live in my old place, but that was rife with unpleasant memories as well. My therapist told me to not forget about myself in all this, said to choose things that I’d enjoy living amongst. That I should look at it as an opportunity to get to know myself better, to feel comfortable in my own skin again. Anyway. That’s what I was contemplating during the process, and…well…I do think it helped me move forward. And I really am dying to show it to you. And for you to add a good bit of yourself to the mix so it’s…ours.” He rested his forehead against mine. “Would it be thoroughly uncouth to carry you over the threshold even though we aren’t married yet?”

My heart skipped a beat at the ‘yet’, but I decided to pretend I hadn’t heard it because just the thought of it was too much for me to handle. “Thomas, if you want to heft my ass through that door, I’m certainly not going to stop you. And, being that the tradition itself revolves around preventing evil spirts from cursing a couple as they begin their new lives together…us being us, can’t hurt, might help, am I right?”

He laughed as we released each other, then pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked the deadbolt and swung the door open, turning his head to look back at me, still grinning. “I’ll have you know that other than my mother, my sister and Phaedra you’re the only woman who’s ever been in here.”

“I’m not in THERE. I’m still out HERE.”

Before I finished the first word he was sweeping me up in his arms and just as I said ‘here’ he placed me gently on the honey oak plank floor. As I looked out into the open living and dining space my jaw dropped open…and when I turned my head left and caught sight of the kitchen, I gasped. Gorgeous simplicity, complex, yet graceful angles, everything elegant and masculine all at once…a quintessence of Tom.

Exterior brick comprised the left and windowed living area walls, a matte white paint on the right one and directly behind me. The brick extended into the kitchen as a backsplash and to the ceiling, and I knew it wasn’t the same as the genuine exterior but there was truly no way to spot the difference. The kitchen was rectangular, its opening directly left of the main entrance. Honey oak cabinets were topped with orange-coral tinted cement counters that coordinated perfectly with the tone of the bricks, both uppers and lowers bearing what appeared to be brushed chrome pulls that matched the refrigerator handles. All the appliances were retro-styled, white with chrome accents, and a snort escaped me when I recognized the Big Chill brand name…I’d considered them when redoing my own place but decided they were too expensive. Hands on my hips, I shot him a side-eyed glance, mocking him as I imitated his accent and repeated his comment on my fridge back in New York.

“Mine’s just white. Not fancy and shiny like this one.” Rolling my eyes, I resumed my own dialect. “You are SO full of shit. I totally checked out all the Big Chill stuff when I was remodeling and happen to know that fridge is like, three GRAND.”

Smirking, he shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands out to the side, palms up. “So you like them, then?”

“I didn’t when I saw them online…the Pro series is what I was interested in…but seeing them in person in this setting…I fucking LOVE them.” I stepped into the kitchen area and opened the refrigerator door. “Well, you were NOT full of shit about the contents. Ick.” After closing it quickly, I ran my hand down the countertop to the sink, stainless and deep, rotated right and fingered the dishwasher controls, then rotated right again, gasping once more as I looked up from the stove and noticed the two giant wooden columns that flanked the counter facing the living room. They held up a black metal I-beam, and two smaller wooden beams were attached on the inside of each column, near the top and set at an angle that created a crooked, inward turned Y effect. I walked back toward Tom, reaching out to touch one as I neared the end of the counter.

“Wow. These are fucking EPIC. How did I miss them initially?” Two matching bookshelf endcaps drew my attention away and I felt like the dog from Up, shifting quickly from one thing to another at the slightest distraction. “You have cookbooks, Thomas. Do you cook? I can’t remember if you mentioned it. I don’t cook. Well, I sort of cook. I can bake cookies and brownies and make meatballs and omelets but that’s pretty much the scope of my ability at this point…”

He grabbed my hips and leaned me back against the countertop. “I do cook. Not sure if I’m any good at it, but I’ve found it all to be perfectly edible. I’ll make you dinner tomorrow night, if you like. Maybe you’d like to make dessert?”

“As long as you’re willing to conduct a refresher course on using a gas stove I’m willing to give it a go. Though I’m pretty sure I make A better dessert than I MAKE a dessert. But, you know, whatever you prefer.”

He thrust against me, pinning me in place. “Both. I prefer both.”

“It’s a date then.” I wriggled away from him, pointing at the door across from the kitchen entrance, anxious to see everything else. “What’s in there?” I gimped past him and pulled down on the handle, opening the door outward, blinking when the light came on automatically.

The walls were starkly white, the floors a deep, dark walnut that was nearly black, matching the vanity cabinet to my right that held a white bowl sink atop it. The mirror frame was walnut as well, and to the far left of the room was a walnut pocket door that I assumed housed the toilet. Next to the vanity, in the far right front corner was a square freestanding shower enclosure, entirely transparent, the two front interior-facing sides slightly rounded. Across from the shower, on the back wall to the far right was a storage cabinet, a companion piece to the vanity, and right smack dab in front of me was…the tub. Not just a tub. A freestanding SOAKING tub. It was white, rectangular, with a sloping design so that the ends were higher than the middle. I walked over and turned on the faucet, listening to the sound as I examined the walnut-framed, poster-sized portrait of Shakespeare’s bust created from play titles, each twisted and turned to create an amazing likeness. To either side were two bookshelves that extended to the ends of the tub, centered to the middle of the portrait, holding what appeared to be every play mentioned on the poster. I turned off the water, walked to the pocket door and slid it aside. The toilet was white, oblong, with a tank top button flush. The walls were NOT white…they were papered with pages from books, all various passages from Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets, variegated shades of creams, tans and yellows dependent upon the age of the volume from which they’d came.

I sat on the bowl, lid down, then turned my head to face Tom as he stood in the bathroom doorway, resting with his forearms on the frame. “So. Exactly how many books were harmed during the creation of this masterpiece?”

He laughed and walked toward me, stopping just outside the water closet. “All page harvesting was conducted in the most humane fashion possible, I assure you.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “They were all from the local bookstores, yard and library sales, and I even stopped by a few schools to gather volumes that were already in unrepairable condition. I chose my favorite sonnets and scenes first…and, actually, that was all I needed to do as I ran out of room in there prior to reaching the bottom of the pile of pages I’d cut out.”

“Wow, THAT’S surprising.”

Shaking his head, he pointed his index finger at me. “I pasted those up one at a time. Took me two days, I’ll have you know.” All his fingers extended as he reached for me, taking my hand as I rose. “Here, look at this.”

Outside the water closet, against the wall and to my right as I exited, was a small bookshelf that reached my thighs, walnut like everything else in the room, full of Shakespeare’s works. Above the bookshelf hung theater programs, all of them from Shakespeare plays. Of course.

My breath caught in my chest when I looked up at him and saw the pure delight in his eyes.

“Were you in all of those?”

He nodded and pointed to one emblazoned with the Cambridge University logo. “I was. Yes. This one’s the oldest I have, Romeo and Juliet back in 2001. I was cast as Romeo.”

I bit my lip. “You were twenty?”

“Yes. Hard to believe it was so long ago that I was so young.”

“Do you have pictures or do I have to Google that shit? Because I need to see you at twenty, AND as Romeo. NEED.”

Chuckling, he began to lead me out of the bathroom. “Yes, somewhere I do. We’ll come across them as we rearrange to accommodate your things once they’re shipped over, I’m sure.” He paused and let go of my hand, turning to me, his expression serious, yet tentative. “We can change the décor in there, if you like.”

I smacked his arm. “Thomas. I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables.”

His eyes widened, mouth dropping open halfway. “What did you just say?”

“I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables.”

“That’s from Coriolanus. Menenius says it in Act Two, Scene One.”

“I knew it was from Coriolanus, but not any of the rest. Did you memorize the entire play, Thomas?”

His face scrunched up. “Well…” He blinked, then shook his head. “Why do you know that?”

“Why? Because Shakespearean insults are HILARIOUS, that’s why. And they totally go over most people’s heads, which makes it DOUBLY fun. There’s a really cool website that generates random ones and tells you what play they’re from. Usually. Guy’s name is Chris Seidel, the creator. How have you never seen it? Anyway. Shakespeare themed bathroom, you said what you said, and my LORD I can’t even tell you how long I’ve been waiting to work that into a conversation.”

“You like Shakespeare.” Said as a statement, with more than a little incredulity.

My eyes rolled so hard it made my head hurt momentarily. “Not as much as YOU do, but yes. Of course. How could anyone who enjoys literature NOT like Shakespeare? Though I will admit there are many plays I’ve yet to read. Hmm…which ones HAVE I read?” I ticked them off on my fingers as I spoke. “Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, Hamlet…those were all back in high school. Required reading. Then in Advanced Placement English my senior year we studied Julius Caesar in depth, and I read A Midsummer Night’s Dream, The Tempest and The Taming of the Shrew on my own. Taming is the only one I’ve seen performed live…it’s my favorite. So far.”

Tom shook his head. “I didn’t see any of his works in your collection and assumed you weren’t interested.” He grinned. “You can repeat that quote now if you’d like. Even more applicable at this juncture, I’d wager.”

I shrugged. “Eh, I’m just brimming with generosity today so I’ll give you a pass this time. I used to have copies. And now I don’t have to replace them because I can just read yours.” He flinched, and I roared with laughter. “So it’s okay to keep them in a damp bathroom, but touching is not permitted? Someone needs to go back to kindergarten and re-learn sharing. And for once that someone isn’t ME.”

He held up a hand, palm towards me. “In my defense, no one has ever wanted to read my books before, so it’s an entirely unfamiliar concept. And the ones in the bathroom…those aren’t my GOOD copies, Maude. I’m not a barbarian, for fuck’s sake.” His false outrage made me laugh even harder, his façade crumbling as he followed suit soon after.

As our amusement died down to occasional snickers and snorts, I stepped around him and down into the living room, assuming that the kitchen and bathroom were elevated to make utility access easier. Another white door to my right demanded to be opened, even though I figured it was a storage closet based on its common wall with the bathroom. It was not. It was, however packed to capacity as if it were a storage closet, just enough space remaining for one body to sort of worm around its contents. As I peered in I made note of four mismatched bookcases, all filled, a beaten up beige two drawer filing cabinet, a printer/scanner/fax machine combo resting on a rickety typewriter table, and a wooden desk that was so ancient I couldn’t even begin to guess what color it was supposed to be, papers stacked and strewn everywhere across its surface. The office chair was brown leather, torn in spots with the stuffing coming out, one armrest patched with duct tape. Fan art, photos, letters and cards were pinned all around, which I honestly hadn’t expected, but was deeply moved by.

Tom was standing directly behind me as I turned around, surprise clearly evident on my face. His hands were in his jeans pockets, and he shrugged, smiling shyly. “That would be my study you’ve stumbled upon. It’s tiny, I know, but I had all of it out in the open at first and found I couldn’t focus as well as if I were tucked away somewhere, surrounded by things that remind me of where I’ve come from and how fortunate I am to be doing what I do.” His smile grew wider. “And let’s face facts, that monstrosity of a chair is a sight best left for my eyes only.”

Looking back into the study, I ran my hand across the well-worn headrest, then gazed back at him. “What I see is you, sitting in this throughout the years, poring over books and scripts, scouring the internet as you conducted research on upcoming projects, waiting for word as to whether you’d landed a part, sending out late night, sometimes tipsy Tweets…the evolution of you as an actor, and you as a person. Boy to man, maybe? It’s a chair that’s been your constant companion from college to the present, and you miss sitting in it when you’re gone. I don’t know. Totally talking out of my ass here, but that’s just what popped into my head.”

His bemused expression faded as both brows rose, and he stepped forward to run a thumb down the side of my face, fingers cupping my chin. “RADA, actually. But other than that, you’re spot on.” His lips met mine, tongue seeking entrance, connecting with mine, then pulling away. “It surprised you that I’ve saved items fans have given me.”

My head pivoted back and forth emphatically. “It wasn’t surprise, it was my ignorance showing. I’m ensconced in the digital world, and when I think of your fans I think of what’s online…tweets, blogs, photos with you, that kind of thing. Offline, that part hadn’t crossed my mind, but of course you’ve gotten letters, artwork, gifts, and lord knows what else sent to you or given to you in person at events and stuff. The impact that must have…kinda blew my mind. And that you’ve saved stuff and displayed it? Like the Grinch, my heart grew three sizes this day.”

He laughed as I continued speaking.

“Can I…no, I have to ask…what’s it…how do you…fuck, I can’t even put it in the form of a question coherently, so maybe I answered it myself…no, wait, I have it…I guess…how…how does it make you FEEL? People reaching out to you in such a way? And how the fuck do you HANDLE it? Online is easy…you can just close the tab or turn off your device and POOF, it’s gone. But this is…real. So, how?”

His laughter ceased, growing introspective as he rubbed his neck with his right hand. More clavicle and hand porn that I did not need. “As far as how it feels, well, it runs the entire spectrum from exalting to exhausting. Handling it…the most difficult aspect, for me…and I’m NOT complaining, not about ANY of it, because it’s part of my job as an actor and without fans there’s no audience for the work, which renders what I do meaningless, essentially…is when people say things like ‘you changed my life’ or ‘you saved my life’. That’s…it’s HUGE, and I’m always careful to remember that not everyone, especially in a moment wherein they’re interacting with, be it in person or on paper, someone whose work they admire, has the ability to convey what they mean by those statements in any other way than how they’ve already phrased it. It’s not literal, by any stretch. Obviously. And I always make it a point to stress that THEY did those things for themselves, and that if the work was a catalyst for personal growth and change I’m honored and humbled but they deserve all the credit, because that’s the truth. It has nothing whatsoever to do with me, the real me. Most of the time I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing, Maude, never mind having wisdom to impart upon the masses. The first time a fan showed me a tattoo of a quote from an interview I’d done…that’s some daunting shit, let me tell you. Hard to maintain the public persona at times like that, largely because inside I always feel unworthy, I suppose…but if it slips, I just remind myself that as long as I’m kind, all will be well.”

I tilted my head to the left. “I’m guessing that’s where ‘exhausting’ comes in.”

He nodded. “Yes. Over the past year it’s been especially…challenging. The way we present ourselves is often carefully crafted to mask all the turbulence beneath the surface, which has always fascinated me and something I draw upon when I’m working, and now I’ve…lived it. It IS exhausting. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually.” He took my hand, pressing my palm to his lips briefly. “But I do believe that’s behind me, my love. So. Anyway. The exalting part…that’s when it’s clearly about the work, when someone has been impacted so strongly that they feel compelled to confer their thoughts, their feelings, their opinions…and whether that’s via a letter, artwork, over a handshake or photo at an event…it means they’ve shared the experience with me, related to a storyline or character in such a fashion that they feel connected to the world beyond their inner machinations, and that’s what it’s all about. That’s the stuff I save.”

“Damn. And here I thought an uproarious round of applause after a lecture was the bomb.”

He chuckled and pulled me towards the living area. “Come on, woman. Finish your tour. It’s exceedingly late.”

“Do you have somewhere you need to be, Thomas?”

His eyes narrowed into slits, a wicked grin forming, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Oh, yes. I most certainly do, Maude.”

Lowering my chin to my chest, I sighed heavily, then raised my head to examine the remainder of the first floor. To my left, in front of the kitchen counter and wooden beams, was a large plank dining table, the wood a few shades darker than the honey oak of the cabinets. In the center was a shallow, brushed chrome bowl containing loose change, keys, and a copy of ‘Freedom’ by Johnathan Franzen, whom I’d heard of but never read. To either side of the bowl were iron-finished votive holders, three candles in each. The chairs had white plastic seats and backs, all in a single piece, shaped like a butterfly bandage, narrow at the fastening point, expanding out in a rounded triangular form at the top of the back and front of the seat itself. The legs, like the cabinet hardware, were chrome. On the brick wall, centered to align with the table, was what appeared to be an original Jurassic Park theater poster, something scrawled in the red circular area near the T-Rex’s mouth.

I pointed at it incredulously. “Uh, is that, like, Steven Spielberg’s signature, dude?”

Tom grinned, face turning faintly pink. “It is. I bought the poster on eBay years ago. Took me until the last week on the War Horse set to summon up the intestinal fortitude to ask him to sign it for me. He was terribly amused.”

Patting his shoulder, I grinned as well. “Right now, somewhere out in this wide world, there’s an aspiring actor following your work who will one day bring their own bit of memorabilia to set for you to sign, you adorable man.”

I looked to my right as he stood speechless, and the huge gas fireplace caught my eye immediately. It was at least six feet long, four feet high and iron-finished to match the rafters. Hung directly above it was an 80” television, and I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

“Fucking hell, Thomas…now THAT is a TV. Let’s stay up all night and watch stuff. Like, porn. Wait, I’d rather make my own porn. Never mind.”

He groaned as I continued to inventory the space. On either side of the TV were six massive bookshelves hanging as if suspended in space, honey oak colored planks eight feet in length, vertically centered in line with the TV and spaced eighteen inches or so apart, nearly reaching the rafters. A black metal rail ran across the top of the wall above them, with a ladder of the same material pushed all the way to the far right, hooked on the rail at the top, wheels on its bottom. Some of the shelves were full, others only halfway so, most of the empty space on either the very top and very bottom. Set back a good fourteen feet from the TV was a dark brown leather sofa with a mottled, weathered finish, high back, and what looked to be very comfortable cushions. I walked forward to test it out, stepping carefully between it and the matching armchairs situated diagonally off to either side. Two matching steamer trunks served as end tables, and as I bent for a closer look at them I noticed the rug. It was huge, at least fourteen feet across, extending what had to be eighteen feet from the base of the wall in front of the fireplace all the way back and underneath the couch, ending right in line with the iron legged, distressed wood plank console table. Clearly an antique, it was a sea of motifs in burnt sienna, ivory, and oxidized blue with a giant midnight blue Tree of Life design in its center. Forgetting about the couch, I walked to the wall, moved to the bottom center of the carpet and turned toward the couch, the direction in which the top of the tree pointed. Under it, at my feet, were animals…horses, leopards, and other exotic beasts, frolicking under beautifully spreading branches. I knelt down carefully, running my fingers over the interlocking arch border and everything else within my reach. Tom’s feet appeared in my line of sight, and I lifted my head to meet his gaze as he first towered over me, then squatted down.

“When we were filming the Night Manager in Marrakech, I saw this in a market shop. According to what I was able to discern from the proprietor, it dates back to 1910.” He pointed at the tree. “That’s the Tree of Life, and after everything that…happened, it just resonated with me. Feeling part of a bigger picture than what I was experiencing and all that, I guess. In Persian mythology, it’s called Gaokerena, a giant Haoma plant that conveyed healing properties to the living and eternal life to the resurrected dead when ingested, and its juice was thought to grant immortality to anyone who partook in drinking it.”

I nodded. “The Tree of Life theme factors into nearly every religion in one aspect or another. My favorite is from the Iroquois…they have this myth as to how the earth was formed, The World on the Turtle’s Back. Their Tree of Life itself could be found only in heaven, where they believed the original humans lived, until a pregnant woman fell from there and landed in an infinite sea. A giant turtle came along, saved her from drowning and she used a piece of bark from the Tree to form our world on its back. Stephen King alludes to it in the Dark Tower series. Maturin is one of the Guardians of the Beams that hold the Tower up…he’s a giant turtle, and there’s a line in there somewhere about him being the oldest thing anyone could ever imagine.”

Tom extended his hand to me, his eyes alight with wonder, the desire lurking just below the surface revealed by the set of his jaw. “Come upstairs with me, won’t you?”

A devilish smirk played upon my lips as I took his hand and rose slowly. “Intellectually stimulating conversation about ancient creation mythos gets you going, does it?”

“You, Maude. You get me going. Now let’s…get going.”

To my left were two giant windows, photos and posters and other items hung between them that I didn’t stop to see. A wing-back brown leather chair and ottoman rested in front of each window, with floor lamp in between, an iron base and stand with a weathered ivory parchment shade on top. We neared the steps, located on the wall opposite the fireplace and behind his study, the bottom of them facing the windowed wall. The staircase was black metal, the steps themselves honey oak, all open to the living area. Tucked underneath were five stacked oriental-styled boxes, but it appeared the explanation of their origin would have to wait until another day.

At the top of the steps was a hallway, painted white, with a honey oak floor and two white doors on the right. Tom opened the one nearest us and led me inside. To my right was an open door that led to the bathroom, and he sighed as veered from his intended path and wandered inside. The flooring was a very light blonde wood, three walls painted matte white. Directly to my left was a wall-mounted vanity, made of wood the same shade as the floor, and as I reached out to touch the white quartz countertop I heard Tom mutter the word ‘damn’ under his breath.

He kissed my cheek quickly. “Continue with your tour of the loo…I’ve got to run downstairs. Be back in a jiff.”

“M’kay.” It was a single piece of the material, sink built in, and the way it sparkled in the light made me think of fairy dust, at which point I shook my head and berated myself for stringing the words ‘fairy dust’ together. “Maude. It’s a countertop. Not an imported treasure from Pixie Hollow. And why do you even KNOW what Pixie Hollow IS? Bleech.”

Three feet long, the vanity had one mock drawer and one real one, both with long silver handles that matched the faucet, which scared the shit out of me when I accidentally activated the sensor and it turned on. Next to it, on either side and set underneath the quartz slab, were two smaller wall-mounted cabinets, each with three drawers. Next to those were two tall cabinets, nearly reaching the ceiling, made of the light blonde wood as well, but with lightly-frosted glass doors that possessed a faint bluish hue. A white mirrored medicine cabinet in a modified cross shape was positioned directly above the sink, and my hand automatically rose up to open it because, that’s what you DO in someone’s bathroom you haven’t been in before. I stopped short, realizing that it was MY medicine cabinet now, and the urge to peek dissipated instantly.

Parallel to the vanity at the rear of the bathroom, perpendicular to the brick wall, was a huge shower enclosure, entirely made of the same lightly-frosted glass as the cabinet doors. I could make out the massager, which appeared to be on a slider to allow for height adjustment. Two shelves were nestled in each rear corner, but other than that it was wide open with plenty of room for two. Grinning, I turned to the window, three rectangular panels divided in two, a square on top and rectangle on the bottom. It was heavily frosted, permitting complete privacy without loss of light or the encumbrance of window dressings. Across from the shower was an alcove, which I assumed held the toilet, and I poked my head around the corner and let out a shriek.

“Holy shit, a bidet! This was the one thing I REALLY wanted to include when I remodeled but it wouldn’t fucking fit, no way no how.” I sat on the closed toilet lid, then reached over and turned it on, water shooting out and onto the hand I’d hovered in front of the jet. “SICK water pressure, Thomas. WOO HOO!”

The running water reminded me that I hadn’t peed since the plane, and I stood, lifted the toilet seat, pulled down my pants and sat happily. It was tankless, oval and ridiculously comfortable. Closing my eyes, I leaned back and rested my head against the wall, slipping away into a near meditative state until Tom cleared his throat loudly, the sound echoing off the bathroom walls.

“Dude, why? I’m glad I’m still on the bowl…otherwise I’d have pissed my pants. I was waiting for footsteps. I didn’t hear any footsteps.” I wiped, stood, yanked up my jeans and panties at the same time, flushed, then looked at him, one arm resting on the wall, feet bare, clad only in jeans and a white T-shirt, the blue sweater he’d had on all day MIA. He was silent, watching me as I washed my hands and dried them on a towel that hung on the rack across from the vanity. As I completed my task, he grabbed my shoulders gently, then guided me through the door and back into the bedroom.

The flooring was identical to that in the bathroom, I noted as we rotated right, navigating past a dark wooden dresser and towards the king size canopy bed. It was a modern take on canopy styling, essentially a four poster with an upper frame, the head of it up against the brick wall. There were no curtains attached to the dark, walnut-colored wood, only a headboard of deeply weathered horizontal bamboo stalks that extended all the way to the top. The total height was at least eight feet, with what looked like an eighteen inch mattress on an equally sized base. Six pillows in various sizes and shades of cream and light tan rested against the headboard, atop a cream-colored textured coverlet. Across the bottom was a blanket, the cotton middle off-white and the three inch linen border a dark tan. Two dark walnut nightstands flanked the bed, lamps on top of them both, single drawers underneath.

Tom continued to guide me forward, and as we neared the bed I could see around the corner into the longer part of the ‘L’ shape. Another window presided over the space, dead center on the brick wall, with a small, overstuffed, dark tan linen-covered couch on the same wall as the bed and three huge stained bamboo wood wardrobes opposite it. On either side of the couch were two ladder-style bookcases, dark walnut to match the bed.

Before I could comment, he spun me around and pinned me up against one of the bottom bedposts, one hand holding the back of my neck as his mouth met mine, the other slipping underneath my baggy purple turtleneck sweater and sliding down my belly to the waistband of my jeans. They were men’s, ancient, and just sort of hung on me…the only pair of non-dress pants I owned with legs wide enough to fit over the boot that had become the bane of my existence. I knew what he’d find down yonder, and I smiled as he ran his tongue over my lips, causing him to pull back.

“What’s so amusing, Maude Gallagher?”

“Nothing, really. I’m just…happy.”

He growled, then froze after his fingers delved downward, then down some more past where my usual undergarments rested, and finally encountered a texture he’d almost certainly recognized. At least I hoped so, being that he’d picked the damn things out. His eyes met mine, hand that had been on my neck quickly joining his other to aid in unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans, his pupils dilating as I watched him tug at the fabric of the tiny black lace bikini bottoms from Agent Provocateur. Groaning, he pulled the hem of my sweater up to my shoulders, gazing down to find exactly what he’d expected…the black lace halter top through which my rock hard nipples were clearly visible. I lifted my arms as he moved the jumper upward, then off over my head after a brief struggle during which I was reminded of why I avoided turtlenecks. This one had been chosen because it was nice and roomy, handily camouflaging my more floppy than normal boobage, as well as the lace at the neck of the halter.

Cupping both breasts and thumbing my nipples, he leaned in and whispered in my ear. “This is what was next to me for the entire duration of our flight? Good goddamn thing you kept it a secret, love, or you would have wound up with your face pressed to the bathroom wall as I fucked you from behind on the way over. Several times. Several.”

He lowered his head, tongue dragging over my lace-clad pebbled flesh, taking each nub in turn between his teeth through the fabric and shaking it back and forth like a dog with a bone. Sinking to his knees, his tongue journeyed south, down the middle of my stomach, swirling around my belly button, then descended further, swiping down the fabric and stopping just above my mound. He rose to his full height, face inches from mine.

“This mattress has yet to experience the pleasure of a woman’s body resting atop it, sinking into it, wet with sweat and her own juices, writhing back and forth as she comes over and over…shall we change that?”

I ran my hands underneath his T-shirt, pinching his nipples, then unbuttoning his jeans and undoing his zipper, erect cock springing free into my hand. “Y E fucking S, Thomas. Change it we shall.”

We both shimmied out of what remained of our clothes, me needing to sit down to get my jeans over the boot, him staying my hand when I got up to remove the panties. They buttoned along the seam of the crotch, and he ran his fingers along it, releasing each one as he worked his way back to the front.

“Maude, will you leave these on for me? May I fuck you that way?”

I nodded, panting, and his tongue was in my mouth before I could reply, the blanket tossed aside as we wriggled back and onto the bed, the head of his cock rubbing first against my clit, then sliding down between my lace-covered lips and inside me, fully sheathing himself in one uninterrupted motion, eyes rolling back in his head, biting his lip and whimpering as he always did when he initially hit bottom.

“Thomas, that little noise you make…every fucking time…it should be the sound that plays when someone clicks on the speaker icon when they want to hear the pronunciation of erotic. And titillating. And maybe insanity. Though that’s more what it CAUSES, I guess.”

He leaned down, nose rubbing against mine. “And what of that sound you make then, Maude?”

My left eyebrow rose as I shook my head. “I don’t make any sound.”

Nodding, he lifted himself up on his hands, smirking as he stared into my eyes. “Sounds, actually. Plural.”

“No way. I call bullshit.”

He chuckled, then sobered, tongue licking his lips before he spoke. “As the head of my cock enters you, you take the tiniest of breaths, a nearly inaudible sharp inhale. When it drags across your G-spot, your mouth forms an ‘O’ and you squeak-grunt, also nearly inaudible. The moment I’m fully inside, you exhale every bit of air remaining in your lungs and end with a single second of sound that echoes in my head every time I think about fucking you…it’s a moan, a whimper, a plea, an acceptance, a preview of what awaits me if I pleasure you properly.”

“IF? HA! IF!” Brow furrowed, lips in a thin line, I studied the beautiful face above me. “Do I really do that, or are you just messing with me? Because I totally never noticed.”

His hips circled as he pulled out, then slid back in. “Uh huh. You really do.” Out. “Every.” In. “Fucking.” Out. “Time.” In again, creating a slow, maddening rhythm. “As you so eloquently put it. And it drives me wild, Maude. Every fucking time.” He lowered himself to rest on his elbows, thrusting in earnest as I twined my legs with his, feet around the backs of his knees, one hand in his hair, the other stroking his chest, tongue running from beneath his ear, down his jaw, across his chin, then up the other side. He buried his face in my neck as I began gyrating against him, a well-placed fastener on the panties teasing my clit.

“Maude, my god, you’re always so eager.” His weight on me increased as he lifted his head and met my gaze, and I felt his hand work its way between us, two fingers first rubbing my clit then sliding into me beside his cock, said fingers remaining still as he continued thrusting. “OH GOD, OH FUCK, MAUDE FUCKING HELL, I can feel myself fucking you, my cock, your pussy, I feel it ALL…”

I unwound my legs, feet on the bed, knees up, and began bucking, slamming my hips into him, clenching down on his cock as I came, fingers digging into his shoulder blades, moaning and chanting his name. I felt him pause, cock twitching, as warmth began to flood inside me, and when he began thrusting his fingers in and out I came again, harder, as he gasped repeatedly at the all-encompassing sensation he was creating, the illusion that he was fucking both himself and me at the same time. Fully emptied, he moved his fingers in and out, slowly, finally withdrawing them and collapsing on top of me.

His arm lifted, hand moving toward my face, fingers that had just been inside me coming to rest upon my lips. I licked them, then grabbed onto his wrist as I took them in my mouth, sucking forecefully. He groaned, his entire body heaving in one enormous shudder, and I released his digits, snickering loudly.

Tom turned his head as it lay on my chest, peering at me with one eye. “Enlighten me, woman.”

My snickering ceased as I dissolved into giggles. “I’m just wondering if the mattress enjoyed itself, or if it’s going to get up and dive out the fucking window as soon as the opportunity presents itself.”

He chuckled. “Ah. What has been seen, cannot be unseen. Or felt. Something.” He rolled off of me and sat up, fingers tracing the outline of my breasts, my biceps, ribs and belly, expression shifting from amused to concerned. “Didn’t hurt you, did I?’

I shook my head, hair catching on the coverlet beneath me. “Nuh-uh. Me likey. Mucho likey. I give you my permission to repeat it as often as you deem necessary.”

He smiled that thousand megawatt smile, then kissed the tip of my nose. “Why thank you, beautiful, intelligent, adorable creature who makes me the happiest man on the face of this earth. For me, it felt…I’ll never be able to explain it, I don’t think, but…nope, I’ve got nothing. Though I will say it’s probably akin to an out of body experience. You seem to have quite the knack for causing those.” Something flashed in his eyes, and he swung his legs over the side of the bed, got up and began fumbling around in the pile of clothing on the floor. A white T-shirt plopped down next to me out of nowhere, and I stuffed it under my ass and sat up so I could see what the hell he was doing.

The jeans he’d been wearing dropped from his hands and back to the floor, and he knelt on the bed in front of me, left hand closed in a fist and extended toward me.

“I almost forgot…this is what I went downstairs for.” His other hand reached for my right one, pulled it in his direction, and I opened it automatically as the fingers of his left began to open. Something cool, smooth and round was placed in my hand, the size of a fifty-cent piece, with other objects attached to it, also cool but with jagged edges. “Your keys.”

The smooth round part was a keychain, appearing at first to be solid silver, but when I turned it over and saw the etching I gasped. “Jesus fucking christ, is that a Tree of Life?”

He nodded. “Also from Marrakech, but not the same shop as the rug. Bought them the same day, though.”

My gaze moved from a gleaming in-relief tree, the carved out area behind it painted black, to Tom’s face.

“Them?”

“Yes. Them. While I was standing in the market stall, something whispered in my ear and instructed me to purchase two, though I couldn’t fathom why I’d ever need more than one at the time. Now, I know. I added the other to my keyring tonight as well.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I closed my hand around the ornament and keys. “I’m not sure if I can handle any more of these cosmic coincidences, Hiddleston.” Brushing away the wetness with my free hand, I pondered the delightful absurdity of it all. “My boyfriend and I have matching keychains. A month ago that would have made me roll my eyes, and maybe even throw up in my mouth a little. But now I’m all giddy and weepy…dude, what have you DONE to me?”

He leaned in, fingers on my jaw as he placed a soft, chaste kiss upon my lips. “Loved you?”

Feigning an exasperated sigh, I poked his chest with the fist that held my newest treasure clasped within. “Stop that, Thomas. Stop that RIGHT NOW.”

Hopping off the bed, he reached for me, and I rose to stand beside him. “Come on, my love. Bathroom, then bed. Busy day ahead for you…new job, new office, making dessert without burning down the flat…”

I cut him off, letting go of his hand and tromping toward the bathroom, singing. “Yay, yay, yay yay yay…Imma gonna use the BIDET!”

It was nearly three AM before we finally settled in and drifted off, his head on my chest as I started up at the ceiling of my new home, surprised that it didn’t feel even the slightest bit strange or unfamiliar. Instead, it felt almost as if I’d been there all along.

#your light in the mist #chapter 27

4 notes · View notes