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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
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The next day while filming, Chris and Tom acted like they hadn’t snogged at all. Like they hadn’t each stayed up late into the night, unable to fall asleep, still thinking about it. Elsa had sounded satisfied, like it made her week, she had asked Chris what kissing Tom had been like.
At the time, Chris was still in the bedroom, he glanced over his shoulder to see whether Tom was listening, and elegantly rounded the corner out of the room. He cupped his hand over the phone, lowered his voice, murmured part incoherently, “He is bloody good at that.”
“I heard that…!” Tom called from the bedroom, “Knew you thought I was good…!”
“Piss off,” Chris called back, trying to hide his smile.
What a strange night it’d been.
Now and then on the following day, Chris would think back to it, wondering if it had been real at all, and what he ought to think of it now; Tom was still the same Tom as he’d always known him, rehearsing their scenes together felt familiar and comfortable. There they were, the two tallest guys on set, towering over everyone as always; messing about and having a laugh as usual, finishing each other’s lines. It was all second nature, they had a world of inside jokes no one else got.
Also, they made out last night.
“Weird, isn’t it,” Tom said over lunch, they had sandwiches cut into triangles, he was picking the bread apart to see what was inside. Chris looked up from over his food, Tom regarded him with eyes squinted against the cold sunlight.
“I liked it,” Chris said without shame, voice muffled over his sandwich.
Tom watched him for several moments before bursting in laughter, he looked away, then back at Chris, then down at his food. “We really did that, didn’t we,” he said.
They observed the others on set, the personnel working on props and on makeup, and it occurred to Tom that if others there knew, it wouldn’t come as a surprise; it would be passed off as one of the many things between them that were just something between brothers.
“Reckon I ought to get a T-shirt,” Chris said while staring off into the set, like he were deep in thought. “I kissed Tom Hiddleston,” in big letters, right on the front.” He gestured with his fingers across his chest as to demonstrate. Tom laughed, “Can’t have too many people buy that shirt, makes me look cheap.”
Chris regarded him momentarily. “Yeah, maybe that’s a bad idea for mass production.”
Did it get you hard, Elsa had asked, and Chris huffed into the phone, This isn’t one of your fantasies, it’s not like that. I don’t fancy blokes.
It did, though.
He and Tom had got on fantastically well despite it, they were too close for something awkward to really matter; in the evening, they cooked dinner together, chatting as usual over the dishes and pots, the sound of knives on the carving board, hiss of the gas stove, oil sizzling in the pans. They’d forgot all about it, they were shoving and wrestling as usual like it was no different now than before. Of course, Tom was good at cooking, too— or maybe he just made sure to tell you about the things he was good at, so you’ll know. So you’ll wonder how he could be so perfect, and also so humble, and so charming, and maybe you’d forget that being a good actor meant you could make people believe all that stuff, if you were clever enough.
Chris knew him better than that, though; he knew him for who he truly was, like he were his own flesh and blood.
“You’d probably be one of those guys who could, you know—” Tom said, partly turning around, sleeves rolled to the elbow, cheese grater in hand. “One of those guys who could lift you right off the ground and just—” he made a motion to indicate lifting, Chris glanced from where he was stirring the rice. He frowned as though deep in thought, inspecting Tom up and down. “Reckon I could,” he said, then turned back to the stove. “Not still thinking about it, are you.”
“We’re both still thinking about it,” came the reply, “don’t know if I really fancy being lifted…”
“Don’t know till you try.”
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
He finished with the cheese and transferred it neatly as he could into a bowl, then went on with the vegetables.
“Think we ought to just do it and get it over with?” Chris asked, and Tom gave it serious thought. The sound of the knife on the carving board, cutting through in repetitive stops; “that’s probably the best way to go about it,” Tom replied, voice slow as he weighed it over. “First time’s always bad, isn’t it.”
“Just how many first times have you had with a bloke?”
“Oh, loads,” Tom said sarcastically, “on and off screen.”
“I have— no qualms—” Chris said, still minding the pot, “doing that with you, just— actually, forget that. Yeah, I do.”
They both stopped momentarily, again deep in consideration; they weren’t certain if they had qualms about it or not. “No,” Tom finally said, “we’ve got qualms because we’re both guys.”
“Yeah, and that’s weird.”
“But…” Tom went slower with the cutting. “Guess if there’s a guy I’d try it with, it would be you.”
But once they did that, there’d be no going back; for the rest of their days, they will have done it with another guy, it would be an irreversible, indelible seal in their mutual past, like a dark secret against which they’ll forever be judged in their thoughts— so that made it a pretty big decision.
It wasn’t that actually doing it would be so bad.
Even with the entire female populace egging them on in their hearts, even with their deep fondness for one another, and even with no one thinking it would make them one hundred percent gay, there was an inescapable social stigma that stood blatant without anyone actively needing to point it out.
It permeated and tainted what otherwise was pure and innocent love, and natural curiosity for experimentation.
“But this is daft, why should that matter?” Chris asked, like he really wanted to prove all that wrong. He turned around decidedly, wooden spoon still in hand. “Know what, you can do it to me, if you’re bothered.”
Tom remained where he was, one hand on the tomato he was cutting, one on the knife handle; he turned partway to Chris. “I’m not bothered, you can do it—” he stopped, uncertain if they really ought to get it over with.
There was something in his heart that was pain, and it was more difficult to sort out than all their logistical planning; “There’s no passion in any of that, is there?” he asked, voice somehow humble; but what passion there would be wouldn’t last through the awkward stumbling of first time with a bloke, either way.
Spoon still in hand, Chris paced closer to Tom; he made him flinch inadvertently when he gently brought one hand to his mandible, but Tom let him move in to kiss him after that.
“I’ll get used to that eventually,” Tom said, going back to cutting.
“Passion is like… what? Like throwing all this food off the counter, getting you on there…”
“Yeah, tearing each other’s clothes off, making love with everything spilled on the floor…”
Chris regarded the floor momentarily, then the counter; “Yeah, not doing that.”
Tom stopped in place, suddenly staring incredulously; “You just kissed me again,” he said, like it only then sunk in. They remained dumbly stood opposite each other, both reflecting as with deep philosophical introspection on recent events.
“Right now, there’s so much… like…” Chris said, explaining with his hands;
“Unresolved—” Tom added, and finally Chris held one hand out and shrugged, “Let’s just do this,” he offered, and Tom nodded abruptly, placing the knife on the counter. He wiped his hands unceremoniously on his jeans and proceeded most of the way out of the kitchen before adding, "Right, turn off the stove.”
(On to Chapter 6)
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- 6
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Bromance: A Hiddlesworth Story