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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
- 16
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- 18
Chris and Tom had every intent of heading to bed after work that day; staying up the night before had left them exhausted, they even opted out of dinner with others from the set as to get to sleep early.
They were most of the way home when Tom remarked they should stop at the supermarket; it was late enough in the evening the store was largely deserted and one of the main entrances had already been locked. They debated what they ought to make for dinner, standing tiredly in the vegetable aisle and staring at the immaculate array of celery and artichokes and squash, the sprinkler softly misting over.
“Here, I got the trolley,” Chris said, the shopping carts were smaller here. Low sound of wheels on linoleum, they felt too tired to figure out what to buy. “Did we finish this last time? I don’t think we ever finished that,” Tom murmured aloud as they glanced lethargically over the frozen foods.
Chris couldn’t have anything fattening; by then, Tom was familiar enough with what he could and couldn’t have, and he wound up eating healthier, himself. Chris caught him glancing longingly at the Jaffa Cakes it turned out they had in Iceland, he patted him amicably on the back and picked a package up. “Won’t offend me, man,” he grinned as he tossed it into the cart.
“Promise to eat them only when you’re not looking,” Tom replied.
They took turns paying for groceries, at this type of store you were meant to bring your own bags from home and then bundle your own stuff; they’d got pretty good at arranging things efficiently in each bag, and then arranging their bags in the boot of the car. They’d got used to the bizarre right turn out of the parking lot, which wasn’t exactly a full turn but wasn’t a straight road, either.
At the red light, Tom leaned toward Chris and kissed him slowly; he kissed him again just at their doorstep, both with groceries in hand, Chris with the keys.
Once inside, they hadn’t completely got the door closed before Chris had him against the wall, Tom fumbling for the light switch, the bags falling to the rug with low thumps. They stumbled a little, stepping in-between the bags and the items that had rolled out, hands graceless on each other, tangled in their scarves and coats.
Chris emerged from it breathless, he chuckled, Tom’s fingertips grazed the stubble on his face.
“I’ve wanted to do this all day,” Tom laughed quietly, like an admittance of guilt.
They went at it for several moments before Chris asked, “Not sore, are you? From last night?”
In the dark, he could see Tom shake his head. “No, it’s fine,” he said, he wasn’t sore the next day the way you always hear about in jokes.
Same day, really.
They hadn’t even got their coats off. Chris had at Tom’s neck, the following day the makeup artist would see the mark and say nothing of it; their fingers impatient between them, the clink of a belt, Tom swore under his breath when Chris’ hand came on his member. They scrambled clumsily with his trousers, Tom couldn’t hold back from pressing into his hand.
“Let me see you naked,” the words came before he could think better of them, he tugged uselessly at Chris’ coat, they never got the lights on; they got their clothes mostly off at the entrance, mostly sure they’d closed the front door.
It was cold like that. The low buzz of the fridge in the nearby kitchen, distant shout from somewhere outside, a helicopter flying overhead; Tom’s hands trailed down Chris’ naked chest, he asked him, “Turn around.”
“What?” Chris’ voice came breathless, and Tom reassured him, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna— I’m not gonna suddenly— like— shag you or anything—”
Chris’ laugh came a bit hoarse, because Tom had been kissing his neck; “Right, didn’t think you were,” he lied, “but then—”
“Just, don’t worry—”
Tom laughed, he was already turning him around with his hands.
It felt strange, this, but not bad; Tom leaned against him from behind, his cock wet against him in a way that had Chris visibly uneasy, and Tom said again he wasn’t gonna do anything.
Just wanted to know what it felt like.
What it felt like when he pressed on him, his member slick and tight between them, hands possessive on Chris’ abdomen and chest.
Chris swore silently, palms flat on the wall, face hung forth; entirely unashamed that this got him hard.
He could feel the liquid flow hot down the length of his cock, he swayed forth with impact when Tom moved against him.
Neither of them knew how they’d got so turned on.
They spoke to each other in breathless little whispers and partly-formed words, Tom leaned very close to Chris’ ear and murmured just at the auricle, “I’m going to eat you.”
Chris was too aroused to feel self-conscious, he muttered incoherent expletives when Tom’s hands came on his behind, breath humid against him, very light stubble, the pointed tip of his nose—
“Fucking hell, Tom,” he said, he’d really got his tongue on him, and it felt unexpectedly good.
He wasn’t coy about it, either; he was loud and profane, seamlessly appearing like he’d done this before though he never had. Certainly making it seem like he liked it, and maybe he did, because he’d been wondering what it was like ever since Chris had done it to him.
He had a personal goal of creating the illusion he was a proficient lover, just as he enjoyed fooling people into thinking he was perfect at everything— of course, he couldn’t fool someone who knew him this well, but the impulse to try came to him as force of habit. So much so that Chris chuckled somewhere between breaths, even as his fingers clawed at the wall, “I’ve not forgotten your face when I did this, like some— virginal—”
Tom laughed, breath hot against him; he smacked him lightly on the ass.
“Quiet, you,” he grinned, Chris gasped and turned partway around in surprise. “Oh, you did not—” he laughed incredulously, absently rubbing his behind. He was completely aroused when he turned toward Tom, he bent forth and got both hands on his cheeks, then moved the rest of the way to take his mouth.
Tom was helpless somehow, his fingers hovered over Chris’ hands, but he didn’t pry them off; he stumbled awkwardly to his feet, drawing breath through his nose, still kissing while Chris pulled the full weight of him into his arms.
Have they had this in them all along?
Was it acting? Were they too tired to tell the difference?
Chris actually picked Tom up, the way they’d joked about before, like he’d wondered ever since if he’d ever really do it; Tom chuckled, his legs protruded oddly over Chris’ arm, wiry and long. “Holy shit,” he muttered, unused to being carried this particular way, he could tell Chris was having a field day showing off. He still was wet round the mouth from when he was having at him.
Chris carried him toward the bedroom, kicking open the door in a way that made them both laugh and swear, he stumbled in the dark while lowering Tom unto his bed.
“That was terrible,” Tom snickered, and Chris grinned back, “Yeah?”
“You’re meant to lower me down romantically…”
“All right, you do it, then. Go on and lower me down romantically.”
They both were laughing now. “Rather not,” Tom said, “I can already feel my back, like… snapping in half…”
Chris climbed on the mattress after him, they had at each other without shame. They were naked and clumsy and hard, getting each other wet with their cocks, wondering finally if all the fantasies and jokes about them had basis in truth.
“Let’s give your wife something worth telling,” Tom said, maybe one day they really would let her watch.

(On to Chapter 18)
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- 16
- 17
- 18
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Bromance: A Hiddlesworth Story