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Bromance: A Hiddlesworth Story	By : flagfish Category: Casts RPF > Thor (movies) > Thor (movies) Views: 4616 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not know Chris Hemsworth or Tom Hiddleston. This story is a work of fiction, and I make no money or profit from it.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
The next morning, as every morning, Tom’s alarm went off at exactly fifteen minutes past five. He found himself pressed uncomfortably to the wall, wearing only his boxers, and the journey out of bed would require treading somehow over Chris.
Chris, who had said he’d wanted to join in on his runs, and who ought to be woken up, except that Tom wanted to get ready first. He stretched one arm gingerly over him to reach for his phone, but Chris got to it first; he picked it up, squinted against the bright light, and fumbled two times before managing to hit dismiss.
“You’re awake,” Tom helpfully informed him, and Chris murmured incoherently in response; he slumped back on the bed after placing the phone on the bedside table, showing little promise where jogging was concerned.
“Right…” Tom said, slowly proceeding to maneuver one of his legs over him, delicately placing his hands at his side on the mattress, he stumbled gracelessly on trying to access the floor. Chris watched as he rubbed his hands on his arms to warm up, unaccustomed to wearing so little to sleep; he was aware he ought to jog with him, but his body felt like lead and the air seemed very cold outside the blankets.
“Wake me up when you’re done in there,” he murmured, Tom was at his dresser and picking out clothes. “You sure?” he asked, and Chris slurred back, “I just need to mmph…”
He finally made his way into the bathroom when Tom was brushing his teeth, eyes squinted, hair in an utter mess. “Don’t know how you do this every morning,” he said, reaching for his toothbrush, yawning while putting the toothpaste on. Completely naked and shivering.
Tom, who was dressed, regarded him momentarily and chuckled around his toothbrush, “Reckon you ought to put something on.”
“Yeah, piss off.”
The run had done them both good; they were amicable on their return, wide awake, scrambling in the kitchen to salvage whatever partly-prepared food might still make for a reasonable meal that evening. They had just enough time to shower and dress before heading out to the shoot, and found themselves too consumed with work to think of anything else; they returned home exhausted at the end of the day, and collapsed in front of the telly. Tom passed out on the sofa with his legs hung awkwardly off the armrest.
Chris had almost forgot to tell Elsa about what they’d done, he commented on it matter-of-factly, like it were a backyard rugby match or an argument about the remote; he’d only remembered to be excited about it when she was, but he was really so tired, and Tom was fast asleep in the living room, so he couldn’t tell her his part.
She asked Chris what Tom was like naked, how big it was, whether or not he was cut, and Chris smiled widely; he liked thinking back on it. He looked very nice naked, he knew Tom was aware that he thought so.
It would be another two weeks before they’d tried anything again; it was raining quite hard outside, a Saturday afternoon that felt more like evening, Chris was sat at the kitchen table and filling out paperwork.
“What do you wanna do for supper?” Tom asked from the living room, he was checking fantasy football scores on his phone.
“Don’t know,” Chris replied, chewing on the end of his pen while he read through the forms. “Is there any chicken left?”
“I think there might be some.”
Several minutes passed as they each went back to what they were doing before.
“Fancy having a go again?” Chris asked spontaneously.
“A go at what?”
“A go. You know, a go.”
“Oh… Like that sort of go…”
“Yeah, that sort of go.”
“Huh. You know, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“What’s thirty-seven divided by twelve?” Chris was still filling out the forms, mouthing numbers as he did the calculation in mind. After a moment, he added, “Yeah, it’s been, what? A week? Two weeks?”
“Two weeks, yeah. Poor Elsa.”
“Poor, poor Elsa.”
“Waiting so patiently while we take our sweet time.”
“How does she manage.”
They had meant to shag properly two weeks before, but they’d been more overwhelmed than they expected by the experimenting they’d done, and the reality of what shagging a bloke really meant was daunting. Snogging and messing around was one thing, but there was immense social stigma about actually having another guy’s cock inside you. That was too much.
They each tried to think if they could actually do it, and felt an aversion to the idea straight away. But what if it felt really good? Like, what if it stopped mattering that you had some guy’s dick up your ass, and it just felt really good?
But could they actually do it?
“If you think you’re on top, you’d best think again,” Tom said without looking up from his phone, “Just because everyone seems to think that…”
Chris’ brow furrowed; “I… wasn’t thinking that…” he murmured onto the end of his pen; he added quietly, “…I also wasn’t not thinking that…”
Of course, they wanted to be tolerant. They wanted to be open-minded, but when faced with the reality of it, neither of them could imagine actually taking it.
“Maybe we should just forget the whole thing,” Tom said.
“Yeah, can’t really imagine going through with that.”
“I kind of want to, though.”
“Well, make up your fucking mind.”
“All right; let’s just forget it. No, let’s— argh, I don’t know…!”
Chris was almost compelled to give up and say he’d be willing to take it, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually offer.
“Can’t we just do what we did before and that’s that?” he asked; but he knew they were both as curious as they were opposed.
“If it was like—” Tom began to theorize, now lain on the couch with his hands midair to demonstrate, “—like a woman, right, with a strap-on…”
“Ahh! Shut up…!”
“No, listen, listen— and it was— but it’s a woman, right? Would that be so bad?”
“Yes! Or— I don’t know…!”
Chris laughed and held his head like it hurt from thinking too much.
“I don’t think I would mind,” Tom said, arms crossed over his chest, deep in thought.
“No! That’s— all right, maybe…” Chris was squinting, trying to picture it.
“That’s weird, isn’t it? Why is that all right, but with a bloke—”
“Be—cause—!” Chris sputtered, still laughing; he was frustrated because it was too difficult of a mental exercise. “Because it’s a bloke…!”
“Right, you don’t want to hear a guy tell you all that stuff— you know, like…”
“Like to bend over.”
“Like to bend over.”
They laughed, because they spoke at the same time.
“Right, or, like—” Tom made a ridiculously effeminate voice, “Like, relax, baby.”
They both started laughing at that.
“Relax, baby?!” Chris asked.
“Yeah, I don’t know!”
“But from a woman, it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Yeah, that’s not so bad.”
“Oh, we are so…”
“So insecure. To think this way.”
“Know what, you’re right. That shouldn’t matter, we’re just being a couple of babies.”
Tom sat up conclusively. “It shouldn’t matter. Men are beautiful, and— there, I’ve said it— and we’re probably missing out on— on—”
“Yeah, who knows… what we’re missing out on…”
“Just because we’re so…”
“Because we’re being so insecure.”
Several moments passed in silence; the clock ticking nearby sounded unnervingly loud.
“So you’re okay with me being—you know—on top,” Chris said, murmuring the last two words like they alone sequestered them in exhibit gay.
Tom glanced incredulously; “Unbelievable,” he laughed, “after all that…!”
“We take turns,” Chris finally said, “but I go first.”
“Fine.”
They were genuinely frightened; Tom watched as Chris made his way to the thermostat. “I’m turning it up, ‘cause… it’ll be pretty cold once we…”
…take off our clothes.
Tom nodded in a desperate attempt to silence him before he explained.
“Right. Right, good call…”
There was immense emptiness in the room as they stood across from each other, some yards apart, as though waiting for something to happen. They both almost wished Elsa was there to direct them specifically, so it would be her doing and they couldn’t be blamed.
“Right, no need to stall, nothing you’ve not seen,” Chris said as he began to pull off his shirt. Tom smiled, he nodded and pointed one finger. “That’s true,” he didn’t stop to think out just how much each of them would actually need to take off, because that would have them imagine too graphically the explicit mechanics of this sort of thing.
It was immensely tempting to call the whole thing off. To point out the almost suffocating awareness this was ridiculous and absurd, but they forced themselves through it.
“Okay. You should—” Chris spoke, indicating the couch; “Yeah, I’ll just—” Tom said cooperatively, like an adolescent boy instructed on the sequence of obstacles with which he must contend to prize the holy grail of intimacy. He arranged his various limbs into his best approximation of what such a thing probably required, lain on his back, the surrounding layout of the room almost betraying in its casual familiarity. Like this were any old thing.
“Right,” Chris said conclusively, he walked briskly to the couch and stopped in a moment of logistical planning, then he reached for Tom’s ankles, because that was the part of him that least lent itself to implication.
His first thought was that Tom had quite nice legs; then, immediately after, he decided he ought not think such a thing, especially under these fragile circumstances, when their sole salvation was the insistence they weren’t actually attracted to each other.
Tom watched him try to decide what to do, he smiled apologetically and said, “This is going to be very profane, don’t think less of me—”
He got one ankle on the backrest, the other on the floor, clearly fighting back embarrassment, he laughed and motioned with his chin for Chris to come on.
“Right, okay,” Chris said, he raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Thanks,” he knelt on the floor beside the couch with far too much gentleness.
This was just so real.
He got his hands on Tom’s thighs, aware they felt unexpectedly human, and that human felt just as nice when it was male, so long as you were allowed to believe he was yours.
Then the fucking phone rang.
“Don’t.” Tom said bravely, finger pointed at Chris. It would be too easy to use that as an excuse to bail. It kept bloody ringing and ringing, they both were distracted and it gave them courage somehow; Tom got his hand on the back of Chris’ head and mercifully pressed him down.
Insistently, so it would be solely his own doing without question.
It gave Chris a wonderfully liberating moment of aggravation, when he could justifiably become upset, and blame Tom for forcing him crudely; he felt eternally grateful for that.
The phone was still ringing. It was someone from the film crew and now they were leaving a message on the machine, complete with enunciating every digit of a phone number, twice, and inane afterthoughts at the end.
“Ignore it,” Tom insisted, like he were instructing him on how to ride a bicycle or on the steps to a dance, curiously confident because one of them had to be.
He almost forgot this was meant to feel good, until he felt his tongue on his entrance.
He stilled all at once, every part of him frozen, and stared at Chris with utter disbelief.
“That… is really good,” he stammered, like his own words sounded too absurd to accept, like despite himself he was forced to surrender to something too blatant to deny.
Unexpectedly, Chris found himself somehow flattered, and somehow curious; he tried to meet Tom’s gaze from partway beneath his legs, boyishly smiling, they both chuckled with embarrassment.
“You like that?” he asked with genuine, innocent intrigue, and Tom smiled toothily; his eyes glittered with goodness of heart. “Yeah,” he said, a little shy. “Yeah, I… could you do that some more?”
Just like that, it became normal and understandable and comfortable, like an unspoken agreement that made them wonder if all the reluctance had really been necessary.
None of it would have been so daunting if they could be convinced they weren’t supposed to be against it.
(On to Chapter 11)
- 9
- 10
- 11
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Bromance: A Hiddlesworth Story