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Limelight	By : HobNobsAndTea Category: Individual Celebrities > Tom Hiddleston Views: 2494 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: All events in this story are completely fictional, have never happened. We recieve no money from this story, and wrote it simply for the joy of writing it. Enjoy!

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Limelight
(“Hob Nobs and Tea” Round Robin)
Writers: Jade Hagedorn, Marian K. Welty (TheBlackadder), Susan Bennett, Kimberly McDaniel
The Scenario:

Tom Hiddleston/Real Time/Coriolanus Run. During the production run of his Coriolanus in January-February of 2014
Opening Entry:
                You are a stage hand behind the scenes of the production ‘Coriolanus’. You not only have to help him shower between costume changes, but you have to help him dress quickly so he can get back on stage. With so many performances you get to know each other very well, and Tom seems to be flirting with you more and more. When another stage hand was to help him shower and change his costume, he refuses and insists that it’s you and only you allowed to do so.
                One evening you wait in the wings for Tom to come running off to get the blood sprayed off of him and get his closed changed for the next scene. You push your hands in your pocket to wait having everything all set up and ready to go waiting for him. You pause finding a note in your jacket pocket and pull it out seeing your name scribbled in Tom’s handwriting. You arch a brow finding it odd and start to open it, but immediately pushed it back in your pocket as Tom runs in ready to be changed and cleaned for his next scene and you instantly spring into action.
                The water runs nice and hot. Steam causes a stray strand of your hair to curl at your temple. His chest heaves. You can't get over how lucky you are to get this job. His hands make quick work of his belt and the jeans. You feel yourself flush like every other time. You immediately start to scrub on the blood, your nails scraping off the prosthetics. His chest tightens. "Oh geez, Tom, I'm sorry."
                "It's alright."
                "I just had my nails done."
                "Really. It's alright." Your flush spreads down your throat at the gruff edge to his voice. He turns to face you. The water has soaked his boxers, leaving little to your imagination. Your lips part slightly as you pretend not to notice. Notice the way the boxers cling to the curve of his ass and thighs. And especially trying not to notice the way it clings to his groin and the growing erection and the dark hair. You're focusing so hard on trying not to notice as you scrub the blood from his chest.

                His hands catch yours. "Are you OK?"
                You force yourself to make eye contact with him. His face is intense with the emotion of the character, laced with arousal and frustration. You gasp, swallowing the squeak in your throat. He holds both your hands in one of his. The other reaching up to toy with the stray curl of your hair.
                You blush a little at his attentions but you cannot forget the two of you are there for a job. You pick up a towel and quickly dry him off. “We’ve got 4 minutes Tom, a little help would be nice.” You say in frustration.

                He grins as you quickly continued to check his clothing to makes sure there wasn’t any stray blood before grabbing his clean costume and starting helping him getting into his costume change.

                “Alright.” He says holding his hands up in surrender letting you continue your task. “But after the show would you care to have dinner with me? I know lowly café just two blocks over. I don’t know about you but after a performance I’m usually famished. You can’t be not a bit puckish yourself.”

                “I don’t know, we have a refresher run through with your cast in the morning?” You say softly.

                “One must still eat. So? Why not come with me. We can spend a bit of time getting to know each other outside of work.”

                You hesitate a moment before making certain his fly was pulled up and that his clothes looked rather nice. “Should I send you over to makeup or do you want me to do your hair?” You ask seeing the time.

                “Go ahead and do what you can darling. Perhaps you can answer my question if you have a though to think about.”

                “One minute.” The stage manager said and you quickly run a brush through his hair adding a bit of gel so it looks right, and then put some product was meant to be in all . “There we. Perfect. Go on, quick. You don’t want to miss your curtain call.”

                You start to put your things away as he had another change coming before long. He stood replacing his sword in its sheath, “Alright, but after the next scene, I expect an answer, it is just dinner after all. Not a lifelong commitment.” Just then he was due onstage and turned kissing your cheek and then disappeared to return to the stage.

                Tom Hiddleston asking you out to dinner, what in the world was going on? It would definitely be an adventure.
                You know very well that getting involved with anyone at work, in any job can lead to disaster. As a matter of fact, it's happened to you before. You had to leave one of your first stage hand/costuming jobs because a very obnoxious actor apparently thought that if you could remove his clothes, then he could remove yours. It was a nightly struggle to keep this guy's hands off you... but this was different....Tom Hiddleston! It was only dinner, right? He's always seemed to you like such a nice guy, maybe it would be OK this time.
                The thought that he might be interested in discussing someone you both worked with disappeared with the kiss on the cheek. OK. That was something of a statement. You realized your heart was beating twice as fast as it should. The time for the next change was approaching rapidly, before you'd formed a reply, there was Tom, looking down at you and smiling that million megawatt smile. Without thought, you attacked his costume, pulling the shirt off, as he took care of his jeans again. He's still grinning at you. "Well? What's your answer, pretty lady? Dinner or not?"
                 You inwardly groaned, the answer was always a foregone conclusion. "Tom, I'd love to do to dinner with you. It just has to be after the refresher, OK? Is it OK with you to wait?"
                "I'd wait a lot longer than a refresher, darling! I've been planning this one for weeks. Can't wait! See you in a bit!" He ran back on stage.
                You shove your hands in your pockets. Flirting was one thing. Dinner was another. The note crinkled in your pocket. Unfolding it, you read the short poem with 'dinner?' at the bottom. You still have the note in your hand when he comes off stage for the gown of humility. You hurriedly shove the not back into your pocket
                You and he quickly undress him. The gown goes over his head. "So your answer?" He sheds his boxers. You admired his commitment to the role. He could have left them on but they would be noticeable through the gauzy material. He went on that stage as exposed as his character.
                You look for an escape. Stall? He takes your hands in his again. "Dinner with me? Conversation, food, wine?"
                Sighing, you look up at him. "Alright."
                He laughs. "I'm not sentencing you to death."
                The stage manager peaks her head in. "Two minutes, Tom." You glance around his at the door ajar.
                He leans down, taking advantage of your distraction. He kisses you soundly. His hands release yours only to hold your upper arms, preventing you from stepping back.
                "One minute." He grins as he leaves you breathless and flushed.
                This was all so incredibly confusing, but at the same time you were starving. You hadn’t had a chance to eat before coming to the theater today and stage hands honestly didn’t get paid a fraction of the actors did.

                Okay, Dinner. It’s not like he’s some crazed maniac or serial killer. Someone would notice considering he was now a famous celebrity. You started putting everything back in it’s proper place, shoving the costuming that had been drenched in blood into the washing machine with the others and turned it on. Thank God someone had the foresight to put one of these in otherwise you’d be stuck doing this at home. You wondered if you were going Dutch and hope you had enough cash in your pocket and didn’t need to pull out the plastic which was a horrid and embarrassing thought.

                You heard the play come to an end and applause filled the hall so thunderous it shook the walls. A few moments later the cast came bounding off stage and Tom comes directly to you. “So? Is there a decision?”

                “You smile a little, “I would love to accompany you to dinner.”

                A grin sweeps his face, “Alright, let me go shower and change into stretch clothes and we’ll head out yes? Do you like Italian?”

                You give a nod, “Absolutely”
                “Wonderful. See you in about 20-30 minutes”
                20 to 30 minutes. How does one prepare for a date with Tom Hiddleston in 20 – 30 minutes? Ahh…reading his note might be a start. You make your way to the ladies loo, lock the door and take out the note. Still says "Dinner?" Well that's a yes, but wait, there's a second piece of paper stuck to it. You unfold it and read it.
   “To my lovely off Stage helper, Sheila,
                I’m so hoping you’ll come out with me tonight. I’ve been thinking about you every day since I first saw you. For the first time in my career I’m looking forward to leaving the stage more than walking on it.
                Do you like to act or role-play at all? I have a wonderful scenario in my mind that will fit the two of us perfectly…if you say yes to dinner, I’ll tell you about it then. T. “
                Oh my God, you think. Acting? Role playing? Lovely scenario? You realize that you’re almost hyperventilating. Does he mean sex? Is he proposing sex play before you’ve even said yes to dinner? What if he means something else and you’ve mistaken him. That would be really embarrassing! You turn the note over and see that there’s more writing on the back. It’s just a few lines.
“Sheila,
                By the way, as Coriolanus is set in Ancient Rome, I’ve been thinking about that rather a lot lately. Do you think Coriolanus might have owned a pretty, saucy slave girl who looked something like you? Hope so!”

                Oh my God. It’s time to go back to wait for him again. You've agreed to dinner, but what else?
                Tom emerges from his dressing room. He takes your hand and kisses the knuckles. "You have no idea how pleased this makes me." One of your coworkers comes up.
                "Uh, Tom. There's a crowd again tonight. Faisal wants to know what you want to do." Tom looks conflicted. He ducks his head down. "You don't mind, do you?" Tom is legendary for his love and patience with his fans. You nod and awkwardly take your hands back.
                "How about we meet at the café? I'll wait half an hour then order so once you can get away from fans, it'll be at the table for you."
                "You're a peach."
                Your coworker looks from Tom to you. "So, what do I tell Faisal?"
                "I'll be out in a minute. One hour then I'm going to dinner." The coworker nods then heads of down the hall. You glance over your shoulder in time to see him look back. Shit. You did not need this.
                "Uh, Tom, maybe this isn't a good idea." You turn back to him, right into an ambush. His lips claim yours in a hunger that has nothing up do with food. His arms wrap around your back, pulling your body against his. You whimper softly into his mouth. Dear god, did he kiss Virgilia like this?
                He breaks the kiss and searches your face. "I'll see you in an hour." He smacks your ass on the way out.
                When he's out of view, you run to the bathroom. Shit. Shit. Swallowing rapidly, you turn on the cold water. This-this is not happening. Your reflection looks back at you with doe eyes and kiss - swollen lips. You're flushed a lovely shade of dark pink. And anxious. Oh hell, are you anxious. Arousal coiled hot and dangerous in your lower belly. From a kiss. A kiss!
                You splash cool water on your face, careful not to smear your make up. Can't show up to dinner looking like early Hole-era Courtney Love. You join a group of others leaving by the stage door.
                The crowd of fawning women is a bit embarrassing. But Tom is grinning and polite. You duck your head and hurry behind the crowd. The restaurant is only a couple blocks away by foot. Maybe the brisk, chill walk will soothe the fire building.
                Once having gotten to the café you find a booth in the back corner away from the crowd and the front window so if Tom did actually make it, they could have a little bit of privacy. You stir your rum and coke starring at the ice cubes as they swirled in the glass. This was so weird. Where did ‘would you like to go out to dinner’ come from? You guess that when one person has seen someone naked and helped them get dressed dozens of times you would feel quite at home being with them when you weren’t just changing for the next scene.

                Closing your eyes you lean your head back against the booth seat taking a deep breath. It was a long day. A matinee and a night performance and there were so many costume changes, showers, and it all moved at break neck speed. You smile a little to yourself, having gotten to help him undress and then dress again between each scene. He had such a strong, beautiful and powerful body. There was nothing more exciting than seeing him running about behind the stage sword drawn to get to his entrance.

                Then he would get on stage and that powerful, beautiful, melodic voice would recite Shakespeare as though it was his own every day tongue. Even if you weren’t well familiar with Shakespeare, something about the way he performed it made you understand what was happening. He was an absolute miracle worker. He didn’t just speak the words, he felt them, he breathed life into them. It was amazing.

                Opening your eyes you raise your head taking another drink of your rum and coke. Even though this entire invitation was out of the blue, maybe it would be nice to see him outside of a professional fast paced environment. You sip your drink again looking at your watch.
                Forty five minutes later than he had intended, he enters the café. The little bell announcing his arrival. He looks around the room, his face slightly worried. Did you stand him up? His beautiful smile lights up his face when he finds you. His long legs bring him quickly to your table.
                "Sorry that took so long."
                "It's alright. I saw the size of the crowd. I just ordered the food. I hope you tortellini."
                Tom shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the back of the chair. He sits then scoots the chair up. His leg brushes yours.
                He signals the waiter and order a whiskey and water. His pleased smile doesn't leave his face.
                "I'm so glad you agreed to dinner. Believe it or not, I still feel a bit shy around beautiful women I'm attracted to."
                You pause, mid-swallow. He just called you beautiful and said he was attracted to you. You finish swallowing. "I appreciate your professionalism during the showers and changes. I was worried it might be too awkward and uncomfortable for the both of us."
                You laced your fingers together and look at him. Really look at him. The crow's feet and smile lines just at to his beauty. And the scars. Some so far if you weren't looking for them, you'd miss them. His head tilts to the side. "You alright?"
                “Well, it’s been almost 6 weeks now and I’ve been your ‘pit crew’ for when you come off stage. It never really occurred to me to look at your face; I was o concerned about the rest of you and getting all the blood off and the next clean costume on in a matter of sections.” You admit

                “Yes.” He said taking a drink from his glass, “I am more appreciative of your help then you could possibly know. There’s nothing worse than having no help to get dressed when you have a 13 second change. They usually weren’t ready when I came off the stage, and by the time they got they got organized I was already gone for the next scene, usually half of my costume I continue to dawn up the stairway into the wings. Ridiculous.”

                “And you don’t mind? Having a women help you with such things? I mean there isn’t really much left about you that’s a secret to me. Kinda sucks the mystery right out of it.”

                He chuckles, “Well turnabout is fair play isn’t it.” He says with a wink.
                You were a little unnerved by that statement not entirely sure what that meant. Just then the waiter delivered the several appetizers you ordered, bringing you both fresh drinks.

                “oh thank God! I’m beyond famished. All I had time for between shows today was a protein bar.” Tom says immediately handing you one of the plates before quickly loading up his own.
                Between bites, he asks you about yourself. "Are you content with just being the 'pit crew' as you call it? Or are you an actress?"
                You swallow your mouthful. "I'm alright with bring an extra and a stage hand or production assistant. But I really want to direct." You took a bite then spoke around it. "Is that something you'd eventually like to do?"
                He nods and swallows. "Yes. I'd love to be on both sides of the camera bringing someone's vision to life and marrying it to my own."
                Speaking of marriage. You sip your drink to clear your mouth. "I've gotta ask. Since we're on a date, the rumors of a secret marriage are false right?" You look down at your glass then up to him. "I'm not going to be crucified on social media in some grainy cell phone picture as a home wrecker, am I?"
                His trademark 'ehehehehe' laugh turns a few heads with its volume.
                "Oh lord, no. No secret wife or children. I'm an indefinite bachelor."
                "Indefinite?"
                He looks squarely at you. "I don't have anyone in my life right now to change that status. But if I were to meet someone that captivated me, I would like to change that bachelor label." You look down, suddenly feeling awkward by the implication of that last statement. "And I'm pleased you consider this a date."
                It's your turn to laugh. "Two people with a mutual interest and attraction enjoying a meal and conversation. That's a date, ducky."
                He leans in. "For an American, you're picking up English vernacular quite well."

Blush touches the tops of your cheeks. The waiter clears away the appetizer dishes and brings you both another drink without asking.
                Crossing your ankles beneath the table, your foot brushes his leg. You watch him from under your eyebrows as you run your foot along his calf. You bit your lip, feeling the curve of muscle through the fabric of your low top Chuck Taylor's. "Maybe I only call you ducky."
                "My own pet name." You shrug, absently playing with a loose strand of hair at the base of your neck. Perhaps it was the rum, or maybe the late hour after the long day, you felt a natural ease between the two of you.
                You smile a little, “I feel really comfortable with you.” You admit. “Probably the fact I’ve seen your bum about 65+ times without the gunny sack.” You tease sticking your tongue out.

                He laughed ‘ehehehe’, “Well. Probably why I feel so much at ease with you as well. Can’t really act shy around someone that helps me dress and shower several times a day.”

                “It feels uneven though. There isn’t a bit of you I haven’t seen and the most you’ve gotten is naked forearm from me.” Your eyes go wide looking into your rum and coke. Was this 90% proof stuff or what? Jesus, did you just say that outloud.

                “Well, if you wanted, that could change. In the name of fairness if you want to even things out I wouldn’t complain at all.” Tom said with a wink knowing you’d just embarrassed yourself and trying to lighten the mood.

                “Oh.” You say taking another sip of your drink before you raise your hand calling the waiter over. “What’s in this?” You ask holding up your glass.

                “Rum and Coke Miss.” He says thinking that an odd question considering it was what you ordered.

                “What kind of rum?” You ask.

                “I believe that this particular one is known as ‘sailor jerry’.” He said trying to remember.

                “Ah. Rut gut rum. That explains it. Thank you.” You say putting down the glass your face feeling a little warm. The waiter gave a shrug and went to see to the other tables.

                “What’s ‘rut gut’ rum?” Tom asks curiously.

                “The cheap stuff. Gets you on your face in a quarter of the time and booze.” You say softly. “Not that I’m . . . uh . . . not that am I coinsurer or anything.” You cover your face, “Oh for fucks sake.” You say under your breath taking another drink from your glass.

                Tom can’t help but laugh continuing to eat, “Honestly, you’re much less rattled when I’m wet and naked. If I stripped down to my all-togethers now would that put you at ease?” He asks jokingly.

                “That’s a sure way to implode tumblr and twitter in one swift move.” You say with a smile knowing he always had quite the line of fan girls outside the theater every night that often had camped out the night before to get tickets or to see him.
                "Ah, well, I avoid tumblr," he says. "Had a look once...never again."
                "Scared the shit out of you, did it?" you ask, laughing.
      "Um, a bit, yeah," Tom says, wide-eyed. "Some of those drawings will forever be seen in my nightmares."
                 You laugh, knowing which ones he means. "Stripping Loki, or being taken from behind by Thor?" you ask.
                "Is that a choice?" he laughs. "Good lord, both are more than a little disturbing." He pauses. "Are you enjoying the food? Perhaps we should have gone somewhere else for after."
                "The food is amazing," you assure him. "I'm more of a lightweight than I let on about drinking. I felt like I needed to loosen up just a bit."
                 Tom smiled shyly and asked, "My dear, do I make you nervous?"
                "Well...yeah! The more I talk to you, the more at ease I get though," you say. "Good, although you are quite adorable when nervous," he offers you a smile so radiant it almost knocks you out of your chair. "Any ideas about what we should do now that our plates are empty? Because I might have a few..."
                 You caught him watching you on more than one occasion. Watching your mouth specifically. The way your lips hugged the fork with each bite. And your tongue rolling between your lips, over the bottom lip. He unconsciously licked his own lips.
                 You finished eating with food left on your left. Tom had cleared his. "That was delicious. Good choice, Tom." You traced your fingers around the rim of the glass.
                "Are you staying in London?"
                "I rented a flat about a 30 minute walk from the Donmar."
                "After dinner, I should like to walk you home."
                 Well this was becoming interesting. You sipped the water not the rum and coke. "I'd like that."
                 The waiter brings the check. Tom must have seen him coming because he already had his card out. You opened your mouth to protest. But he holds up his hand. "I invited you out. I picked the restaurant. It's my treat." Your eyebrow raises. "I wouldn't be a gentleman if I didn't."
                 You decide not to argue. The meal sat heavy in your stomach. Sleep would be fast and easy tonight. With all sorts of interesting dreams.
                 "I'm ready to go whenever you are." The waiter brings back his card. You watch as he signs then puts the card away.
                 "No time like the present." He pulls out your chair then offers you his arm. You purposely avoid looking around the restaurant. If people were looking, you didn't want to know. He opens the door for you, letting you exit before him. He unexpectedly takes your hand, interlacing your fingers. "Lead the way." You set off in the direction of your flat. "It's a lovely night for a walk, despite the chill."
                  " Tom? I'm not good at small talk."
                  "It's a good thing I am." Tom chatted comfortably. You only needed to interject every once in awhile.
                  His hand felt warm on yours. His long fingers dwarfed yours. The thought of them playing your body like a piano. You shudder in delighted curiosity.
                 "Are you cold?" His fingers slipped from yours, his arm winding around your shoulders.
                 "A little but we're here." You stop before a gate. The house is small and quaint. Turning to face him, you look up at him. He smiles down at you.
                "It's quite lovely. You should get inside and warm up." Those large hands rub your upper arms then your back, slowing as he leans in and down. You can't stop looking at his beautiful eyes but they close as he presses his lips to yours, opening your mouth with his tongue. You whimper, kissing him back. His hands grab your ass and pull your body against his. He squeezes the flesh in the snug denim jeans, lifting you slightly off your feet and onto your toes.
                Oh dear God, was this happening? So many times during costume changes your mind would wonder and you would have to pull yourself back and keep your hands from wondering over his firm, fit, tight, strong Coriolanus body he had worked so hard on. He was so beautiful but you were a professional and he wasn’t a piece of meat. Now here you were, tasting his lips, feeling that firm chest press against yours, those strong arms and large hands holding you tight against him.

                After another moment the kiss parts but both yours and Tom’s eyes remain closed savoring the sensation. You look at each other, your bodies aflame and immediately seeking privacy. Without a word or moving your eyes from him you reach up unlatching the gate. At once Tom’s arms wrap around you and your locked in another ferocious kiss as you nearly fall through the gate and he devours your lips as you move towards the door of the house.

                Getting to the steps he reluctantly releases you taking you by the hand as you both hurry up to the house as you fumble for your key in your pocket. Tom grins standing behind you kissing your neck, then your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you pressing the length of his body against yours. Good lord what did you do with it? FINALLY there’s the damn key! You push it into the lock pausing a moment when you feel him kiss your neck again closing your eyes leaning your head back. It was sinfully delicious. Hardly able to draw a breath you turn the key in the lock and push open the door stepping through it but Tom never releases you completely catching your hand again.

                Spinning you about he wraps his arms around you again as you anxiously devour each other’s kiss. You wrap your arms around his shoulders for balance as he begins walking you backward into the living room before you find yourself falling backward onto the large plush couch. His hands move down your body as he begins to trail kisses down your cheek and neck moving around to your throat, his fingers find the hem of your shirt and pull it up baring your abdomen as he moves down kissing your soft warm skin.

                For some reason, his leaving your face allows your sanity to return for a moment letting you think again. Jesus, what the hell were you doing? “Tom.” You breathe starting to feel the reality of the situation. His kisses were so heavenly and wondrous your eyes start to close again both of you still deep in passion. “Tom.” You say again opening your eyes realizing that if you didn’t stop this now, there was no stopping it at all. “Tom!” You exclaim quickly pushing him off you just enough for you to quickly slide out from under him to the far side of the couch folding your legs up underneath you trying to catch your breath and calm down.

                Tom looks at you a little confused by the abrupt halt of your activities, “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” He asks worriedly wondering what was wrong.



                You breathe deeply suddenly feeling like a complete ass. Covering your face with your hand you take another breath, “Not yet.” You say in disbelief knowing there were still a few weeks of the Coriolanus run left that could get really awkward, not to mention complicated if anyone found out one of the stage hands slept with the lead. It wouldn’t do your reputation any good, or his.

                Concerned he moves closer to you but you immediately scoot back another inch holding up your hand not certain your sanity was going to remain intact if he was any closer. You wanted him more than life itself but you worked together. Seeing how uneasy you are he realizes that he may have been far too bold and forward on the first date. “Oh God, this was presumptuous of me our first outing.” He places his hand over his chest, “I apologize unreservedly.” He says genuinely ashamed and embarrassed. “Such beastly behavior isn’t the way to have you agree to see me again outside the theater.” Apparently he had lost his senses for a few moments as well. It would have been proper to stop with a kiss goodnight at your gate, but here he was with you down on your couch beneath him and if you hadn’t have paused you’d already be naked by now.

                This was so incredibly confusing. “Seriously? I think we passed second base opening week when I scrubbed the blood off your thighs when the makeup department got a little heavy handed with the blood application.” You say still not able to look at him blushing bright red yourself.

                Tom looks at you before reaching out taking your hand respectfully in his drawing your attention to him so he could see your eyes. “That isn’t the same thing.” He says seriously. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to be with me just because we work together in . . . . close personal space.” Reaching up he gently strokes your cheek with his fingertips looking deep into your eyes intense sincerity in his own, “You don’t owe me anything. And anyone who thinks that they have a right to take what isn’t there’s just because you work together, is a bastard who doesn’t deserve the air he breathes.”

                You stare into his eyes having only seen this kind of intensity and earnestness from him when he was on stage at Coriolanus. But this wasn’t acting, it wasn’t a performance, he was deadly serious. Tom stands from the couch and kisses the back of your hand gently. “I look forward to seeing you at the theater in the morning sweet lady.” He bows his head to you slightly before he turns and leaves the flat going home.

                You sit on the couch shocked, stunned, and generally at a loss for words. What the hell just happened?
                The alarm clock shatters the silence, abrasive and annoying. You roll over to slap it. Damn thing. Ruining a fantastic dream. You sigh, snuggling in the warmth of the covers. You hug a pillow to your chest. In the dream, you and Tom hadn't stopped. He'd taken you eagerly and hard over the back of the couch. Even now, the dull ache of unsatisfied arousal throbbed between your legs. Your fingers traced circles on your bare thigh.
                Sighing, you throw the covers off. Bare feet a pad over chilly hard wood floors. The hot shower does nothing to ease the ache. The steaming water on your neck awakens memories of kisses. Frustrated, you gruffly turn the water off and towel dry.
                The brisk morning air showed your breath. You shove your hands into the pockets of your lightweight coat. You were thankful you could dress in a comfortable tee, your favorite worn jeans and your Chucks for work. You walked with your head down, humming to yourself.
                You smiled at the older woman behind the counter at the café you'd been frequenting. "Morning, Nancy."
                "The usual, love?"
                "You betcha." The woman ducked her curly gray head and scribbled an order on a ticket and put it in the kitchen window. You scoot onto a barstool at the lunch counter. You check your phone. A message from your mom. You reply with the usual. Still alive, still loving London, did you get the package. A message from your best friend. She was flying in on a few days. Thankfully on a day when the play wasn't going on. You respond with 'Morning hootchie coo. Getting breakfast. Miss bagels and Starbucks with you.' There's a third text from a number that you don't recognize. 'Morning, beautiful.'
               You frown at your phone. 'Morning.' You text back.
               Nancy brings your coffee. The phone vibrates. 'Join me for breakfast?'
               'Already taken care of.'
                Alright then. See you at the Warehouse.'
                "Shit." It was Tom. How did he get your number?
                "Something the matter, dear?" You save his number but continue to shake your head.
                "No, Nancy. How's Bill this morning?" She puts your plate.
                "His knee's bothering him. How are you this morning?"
               "Good."
               "How's the play going?"
               "Wonderfully. I love it. I'll be sad when it's over."
                "And that handsome Mr. Hiddleston?" You smile down at your food. "He's simply amazing. He'll be a big star one day."
                 Nancy laughs. "You like him."
                "What's not to?" You pick up the napkin and twist it between your fingers. "Actually, he asked me out to dinner."
                "Oh?"
                "Last night. It was nice." Nancy pats your shoulder then heads about her business. You eat your breakfast in thought.
                The chill has loosened its grip on the morning when you step into the sunshine. You shove your hands in your pockets again and head to the Warehouse.
                Walking into the theater you go to put your things away in the locker room. Making sure your bag was put up and your cell phone was turned off you locked them up before heading into the changing area which was your work space. Usually his costumes needed an iron run over them after they had been washed and dried. This morning, of course, was no exception.

                This had become routine now, and you put in your ear buds turning on your music then taking a sip from your cup putting it down before going back to running the hot iron over the cloth on the board. After attending each garment you hang them up in the proper order and place so they could be quickly and easily retrieved for his costume changes.

                Reaching up you run your hands over the jeans making sure the wrinkles were smoothed so that when the cloth cooled it wouldn’t look like it had been lying on the floor for a week. Reaching over you pick up your cup taking a drink. Turning around to come face to face with Tom causing you to jump not having heard him come in. Instantly you reach up pulling the buds from your ear. “Oh, God. Tom, I’m sorry I didn’t . . . . sorry.” You say reaching up running your finger across your lips just in case.

                “Hmmm.” He says with a smile, “What is it I’ve caught you doing? What is this?” He asks motioning towards your cup.

                “Oh you know, hair of the dog that bit me.” You run your fingers through your hair a little rattled. He grins and takes the cup from you and taking a sip. After a moment his nose wrinkles slightly and you can’t help but laugh, “Its black coffee with two extra shots of espresso. What did you think?”

                “Could have been a Bloody Mary for all I know darling, we didn’t have breakfast together as I had hoped if you recall.” He says with a small smile.

                “I’m an American, Tom. Remember? Alcohol has been demonized since long before prohibition was passed and then repealed. You get to drink with dinner and that’s it, otherwise you’re an alcoholic with a drinking problem. You Europeans would drink at a baby shower.” You explain taking the coffee cup back having a sip. “And we like our coffee strong enough to stick a fork in it.”

                “That’s . . . .quite apparent.” He half laughs. There was an awkward moment of silence before he spoke again, “Listen . . . I wanted to apologize to you again, for last night. I was . . . way out of line.” He said still embarrassed. “I would like to take you out again. On a real date this time, somewhere nice where they don’t serve ‘rut gut’ liquor. And I promise, I give you my word that I will be on my best behavior.”

                You give a nod looking down at the lid on your coffee cup not quite knowing how to respond. You were still a whirlwind of lust, emotions and confusion. “Tom . . . .” You didn’t know where to begin or what to say and the last thing you expected jumped out of your mouth, “. . . . how did you text me this morning? I didn’t . . . give you my number.”

                “Oh. I forgot to ask you for it and called the stage manager. I didn’t say anything torrid I simply stated that I had some ideas that might aid us in our nightly routine of break neck speed costume changes.” He said quickly. “Was that wrong of me?” He was growing more concerned that he had completely screwed this up and you thought he was some sort of pervert creeping on you in the wings.

                “No.” You shake your head feeling like an idiot for even saying it. “No, that’s not . . . it’s fine. Really it is.” You say with a nervous smile before looking at the coffee cup in your hand once more not knowing where to look.

                “Hmmm.” He says studying you trying to interpret your body language but having a hard time getting a clear read on you. “I’ve completely loused this up haven’t I.”

                You can’t help but half laugh at the irony of this entire situation, “Tom, God.” You say shaking your head in disbelief before meeting his gaze, “What on this god forsaken earth gave you the impression that I actually was being ‘forced’ into anything? Or that you were ‘taking’ anything I didn’t want to give you? Are you kidding me? Before I started working this production, ‘Tom Hiddleston’ was just a name on a piece of paper to me. You know like all the other names in a program. It was the name of an actor, in a production, that I was going to be working for in the costume department. That was it. I don’t usually follow actors or get star struck or all googley eyed when one says ‘hi’ to me, if they actually bother. But since we started working together in rehearsals I’ve grown to adore you, and admire you. Especially your enthusiasm and positivity regardless of the physical stress and demands that they’ve put on you. You’re always smiling even when you are dead on your feet.” You take a breath knowing you were rambling but explaining yourself felt absolutely impossible. “You are a kind, generous, nice . . . . .” You pause a moment motioning towards his figure “. . . . fucking gorgeous man.” Whoops. That wasn’t what you meant to say and you close your eyes putting your hand to your face a moment. Too late now, it was out there.

                Tom smiles a bit relieved seeing that you weren’t offended by his eagerness and was just as eager as he was. He steps forward reaching out and resting his hands on your shoulders to calm you down knowing you were frazzled before rubbing your arms gently. “So then what’s the problem?” He asks.

                You look at him feeling a little defeated. “I don’t want to lose my job.” You say seriously, “If I lose my job, I’m back in the states working in the art district of LA wishing an earthquake would cause the entire city to be swallowed up just so I didn’t have to go back to dealing with those . . . insane . . . ‘artistic’ freaks that think you can have your ora massaged to ease physical and emotional stress.” To be honest you had one particular person in mind who must have had a whole tank of toads to lick throughout the day every day since the 70’s to be that far out of touch with reality. “It is so much better here. It feels like here in London the profession is taken more seriously. It’s more about the work then fame and money and I love that. I love working in this sort of environment. I love working with you. A wonderful gentleman who has the chops and the talent to be an egotistical self centered prick but isn’t one.” Your eyes go wide hearing what just came out of your mouth wishing you had shut up at least one sentence back. “Oh Christ,” you look at your watch, “Can I just finish your costume prep so I can go to lunch and get hammered completely off my ass? I’m sure it’s 5 O’Clock somewhere.” You really REALLY didn’t want to talk anymore.

                Tom just smiles finding you rather adorable this way. It was obvious you were both incredibly attracted to each other, but to be honest, he understood where your concern and fear was coming from. He really was under the microscope in more ways than he thought possible in the wake of Thor and Avengers. Touching your chin he raises your face and tenderly kisses your lips. You close your eyes returning the soft affection finding him just as intoxicating as ever. Even more so. After a moment he looks down at you, “I would still like you take you out some place much more fitting and appropriate to the occasion.” He whispers. You look into his crystal sapphire blue eyes in silent awe not being able to answer or make a sound. A grin sweeps his face as he reaches down taking your hand, “I’ll let you get back to work.” He kisses your hand squeezing it slightly before releasing it and leaving your work space. You stare at him still in awe and shock like your brain had just stalled out in the middle of a traffic jam.
                After costume prep is taken care of, you walk back to your rented flat for a quick lunch. Grabbing your gym bag, you head over to the fitness center you'd been using since you arrived in London.
                A quick change and stretch later, you jump on the treadmill. A three minute warm up walk then you're running. Bass filled industrial spurrs you on. In the zone, you begin thinking about the night before. His hands exploring your body and the places they didn't. You remember details you didn't notice in the heat of things. The way his muscles contracted at your touch, wanting to you to know he was strong and capable, not just on stage. The way his tongue had rolled over your bottom lip when he pulled away. As if his mouth didn't really want to leave. These and other thoughts tormented you, increasing the tension that you were desperately trying to run out. Come on, girl. Stop thinking about him. You need to focus. You have a job to do. Yes, that job is him but if you're not focused on the task you have to perform, you're going to fuck up and lose your job.
                You close your eyes and try to empty your mind. Meditate and run at the same time. You manage to clear your mind after the third mile. You run for another two before stopping. A quick shower and change after you stretch and you head back to work.
                "Shelia?" The stage manager calls you from her office. You peek your head in. "Can I have a word with you?"
                "Sure, of course." You step in the office.
                "Close the door please." A sinking feeling twists your stomach. You close the door, feeling like a bad student sent to the principal's office once that lock engages. "I just wanted to tell you that you're doing a fantastic job. Tom speaks highly of you and your professionalism."
                "Thank you."
                You stand to leave. "I'm not done. Please sit back down." You ease slowly back into the chair. "I'm concerned. About something I saw this morning."
                Oh?" Great. She'd seem them kiss.
                "You're doing a marvelous. We're there a question of work ethic, ability or attitude, I'd use an affair with the lead to relieve you of your duty."
                "We're not-"
                "I'll stop you there. I don't want to think you're a liar. I saw Thomas kiss you. And the way you responded. I'm not blind to the attraction between you. As long as it does not interfere with the production, it's none of my business. But if it becomes a problem or I receive complaints, I'll relieve you of your position."
                "Yes, ma'am. I would expect nothing else."
                "I'm glad you understand. You're doing a marvelous job." You nod but you know when you're being dismissed. You gather the night's supplies from the supply room.
                Tom's dressing room door is ajar. You knock softly. "Tom?"
                "Come in." You push the door open. "Good afternoon, darling." He stands from his chair and takes some of the supplies to help you. "Are you alright?"
                "I'm fine." You sit on his chair at the vanity, looking at his reflection. "My answer is yes. But on one condition." He beamed at your yes then motioned for you to continue. "You never kiss me here at the Warehouse again."
                Tom frowns. "I don't understand. Did I upset you this morning?" "No." You look down at his make-up. Your fingertips move over his stage make-up. "The stage manager saw you kiss me." His thin lips form an 'O'. "She thinks we're having an affair. I'm agreeing to your date and to seeing you outside the theater, but you must never kiss me here again while you're on contract. Anything that happens outside here can't affect the play or our working relationship. Understand?"
                "Perfectly, my darling." He pulls you up out of the chair. "But I can tease you mercilessly."

"Oh really? Tit for tat, fucker." He laughs and hugs you tightly. "Now get your sexy ass moving. The matinee starts in 30."
                As usual, it was another sold out show. They didn’t have a single show that wasn’t not only sold out but over booked so there were 120 people standing in the back. It was probably a sure thing that if the theater was MUCH bigger it would still be sold out and packed to the gills.

                The first two costume changes went smoothly as usual, you and Tom had figured out the best way to get the blood off without drying out, scratching his skin, or messing up the wound makeup and prosthetics. You watched on the monitor ready and standing by with the next set. The timing wasn’t always the same, which was perfectly normal in live theater. The actors might say lines differently, or the emotions would draw a few extra minutes when the actors were really in the moment. Tom, Mark, and a few of the others were very VERY good at being swept up in the emotions and dialogue.

                You knew the entire play by heart, every single line, sentence, word, pause. Doing a performance almost every day and twice some days with previews and matinees. You stood ready and waiting. This was his easiest change considering it was the ‘gunny sack’ as you called it. Just a thin, see through, linen ‘gown’. Originally, you and Tom tried a few different ideas. Jock strap, impractical because it usually didn’t fit under his jeans without being VERY obvious. Boxers, were definitely obviously boxers even when he wasn’t lit up by the stage lights. Briefs were just as bad. And all of them would have to be changed or taken off every time he had to be run through the shower between scenes. So, being the mature, professional adults you were, it seemed going commando was just the easiest, fastest, and most logical way to go.

                You half smiled remembering the first week when modesty just seemed silly and more of an inconvenience then felt necessary. Trying to be professional having never worked with a male actor where he had to be completely naked without undergarments at any time, you tried to keep your eyes averted from the part of his anatomy that his fan base had affection ally named ‘Hiddlesconda’. You were an adult; it was a penis, you’ve seen them before, no big deal. It was made a bit more awkward having been working with the actors in the production. At first he just sort of blended in with the rest of the cast in the meetings to your eyes. You’d worked with beautiful people before and actually pretty often.

                But Tom was so charismatic and generally just an infectiously happy person you couldn’t help but find yourself intrigued and attracted to him. He became more and more handsome to your eyes and you simply dismissed it as a crush. So when you were assigned to him as his pit crew it did feel a bit funny at first. However, all that nonsense quickly flew out the window when the zipper on one of the jeans he wore became jammed after the first legitimate fight scene. Somehow the zipper track had gotten bent and he was literally stuck during one of the dress rehearsals. As they were treated like actual performances you were on the clock. In a fit of frustration knowing you had just a few minutes to get him into his next costume and neither of you could budge the damn thing you took your pocket knife out of your back pocket, flipped it open and with one easy movement slid the blade down the side and ripped out the side freeing him. Obviously he had hardly been expecting it and when he saw the knife he raised his brows and held his hands up in surprise. It was a shock at how you had ‘remedied’ the problem, but at the same time he couldn’t help but smile and laugh at your quick thinking and determination to beat that clock.

                “20 seconds.” The stage manager said on her earpiece letting you know Tom was coming off stage.

                “Ready.” You reply. It was automatic now. As soon as the door opened, Tom moved to the chair that was waiting for him having already passed the stage hand at the props table who took his weapon. He worked on taking off the leather breast plate and you pulled the ties and laces on his boots pulling them off with his socks tossing them to the side. Then he stood taking off his shirt as you made short work of his jeans and boxers. When he stepped out of them kicking them to the side, you take the sling that was meant for his ‘wounded arm’ over your own, then the robe slipping your hands into the sleeves and rolling it up onto your arms. He turned towards you and within half a heartbeat it was slipped onto his body with a single swift movement. Slipping his arm into the sling you hurry ahead of him and open the door as he heads out, grabbing the head wreath from the props person he hurried back up to the wings. You grin slightly checking your watch, “11 seconds. New record.” You say with a grin instantly you pick up the costume he just shed preparing for the next one.
                After the show, which was brilliant as usual, you find yourself waiting next to the washer where Tom’s bloodied and make-up covered costumes were. It was always such a good feeling when everything went the way it was supposed to go and things ran smoothly. Definitely felt like a job well done and put you in a good energetic mood. You have your ear buds in listening to “Shake it Off” by Taylor Swift, and understandably you find yourself bopping to the beat and dancing slightly singing to the words. Softly of course, you were fully aware you couldn’t really sing. There was a reason you were being the scenes and not on the stage. You were always alone working on this after the show. The actors showered and changed into their street clothes to go out and meet fans before heading home or wherever they were going the remainder of the evening and the stage hands had their respective tasks. Props, make-up, stage sets, costumes, etc.

                You’re back to the door and completely lost in your own little world, it was understandable when you didn’t realize you were no longer alone and were being watched. Shaking your hands during the chorus you shook your hands on arms “I, I shake it off, I shake it off . . . I, I shake it off, I shake it off. My ex-man brought his new girlfriend, she’s like ‘oh my God’, but I’m just gonna shake it. And to the fella over there with the hella good hair, won’t you come on over baby, we can shake, shake shake . . .” You start into a weird retarded variation of the twist with your hips and turn to find Tom leaning on the doorway silently his arms crossed with a huge grin on his face and a light in his eyes watching you very amused. You stop cold almost falling over feeling incredibly embarrassed and like the world’s biggest dork. “Damnit.” You say with a sigh turning off your music pulling your earbuds and shoving it in your sweater pocket. “Why can’t you ever suddenly appear when I’m being cool?”

                “Oh darling, I always think you’re cool.” He says pushing off the door jam and walking into the room.

                You blush a little bit rolling your eyes still a bit embarrassed shaking your head, “What are you doing back here? Shouldn’t you be out feeding the ever more alarming fan girl obsessions?”

                “I wanted to see you before I left. We have the break over the next two days where we don’t have to come into the theater at all. Would you like to come out with me tomorrow evening?” He asks.

                You smile looking at him, “Sounds good.”

                “I’ll come by your flat and pick you up at 5:30pm?” He questions. You nod in agreement and he smiles, “Wonderful.” He takes your hand and places a gentle kiss to your knuckles knowing you had already requested to lay off the PDA’s especially at work. “Then until tomorrow sweet lady.” He says with a shine in his eyes. It wasn’t fair, someone to be so sweet and charming. He started to walk out and you started to go back to the washer but he paused, turning back to you as he playfully runs his fingers through his hair. “So how’s my hair?”

                You grin knowing full well he’d heard you singing along to the song on your headphones when he came in, “Hella good.” You say respond, “Shake a leg and don’t keep them waiting.” He grins and winks at you before picking up his bag over his shoulder and heading out to where his body guard was waiting to accompany him.
                You'd spent the morning of your day off curled up on the couch under a heavy quilt with Netflix. After watching six straight hours of Dexter, you finally decide to clean house. You and Tom had been texting all morning. Casual conversation had lead to flirting had lead to more innuendo. He might be a gentleman but when he was interested, he didn't hide it or hold back.
                By the time he rang at 5:30 on the nose, you were a bit anxious and nervous. He'd said dress casual so you'd chose soft jeans that hugged your legs, calf boots and a soft fluffy navy blue sweater. You'd swept your hair back at the temples and secured it with a filigree clip. The tresses cascaded down your back.
                Biting your bottom lip, you open the door. His charming smile falters. "My darling, you are beautiful." He steps in the doorway. "May I be so bold?" But he doesn't wait for your answer. Instead, he slips his arm around your waist and pulls you into a deep kiss. His lips press firmly to yours, his mouth opening yours, his tongue seeking and exploring. You rest your hands on his shoulders, returning the kiss. His mouth tastes sweet and minty. His free hand reaches up to touch your jawline, tilting upward so that he can deepen the kiss. His long fingers cup your jaw, his thumb coming to rest on your chin. You both slowly open your eyes. "I've been waiting to do that since last night."
                Somewhat breathless, you smile. "Remind me to make you wait."
                "Sweetheart, I've been waiting for you to let me kiss you like that for over a month."
                Blush colors your cheeks. "So what do you have planned this evening?"
                "Dinner. And dancing."
                "Tom, I don't dance."
                "I beg to differ. I caught you last night. Shaking." You groan, causing him to ehehehehe. "It's not the first time I've seen you dance around the Warehouse." It was true. You danced around mainly when you were alone, or thought you were alone. Music moved you even if your sense of rhythm left something lacking.
                You grabbed your purse off the hall table. He waited for you to lock up then linked arms with you. "Do you like Thai?"
                "Does the pope wear a pointy hat?" He laughed. "Excellent. I know the perfect place." He opened the passenger side door of his Jaguar. You held his hand as you maneuvered yourself into the seat without looking like a clutz and falling in. Out of habit, you lean over and open his door for him. He slide in, looking at you in the most peculiar way. "Something wrong?"
                He shakes his head. "No, not a thing."
(Continued -->)
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