You know what’s really gay?
thrusting your crotches together
and touching butts
#I feel like there is RPF lurking here #’Tuck your shirt in mate’ #and he does and can’t help but glance over and remember why it’s un-tucked in the first place #what they’d been up to in the bathroom only minutes before #and he takes a deep breath and hopes none of it shows on his face #the afterglow - or the anticipation of what he plans to do in retaliation later
I love this fandom
I love it so
#OMFG #seriously? like… SERIOUSLY? #Chris Hemsworth#Tom Hiddleston #STOP YOUR FLIRTING #RIGHT THIS INSTANT #okay no continue it please you’re making all sorts of wondrous images flit into mine brain#UNF #UNF #AND HIS TONGUE #AND HIS FINGERS #ON HIS NECK#TEEEASSSIINNNGGG #UNNF
He’s staring. Tom knows he’s staring, can see it in his peripheral vision. And in front of all these people, too—in front of the cameras, no less.
It’s rather ill-behaved of him, to say the least. Mostly because he’s now quite clearly ignoring the nice men interviewing them.
The wet pink of Chris’s tongue slipping out to press against his front teeth glistens in the harsh lights—ah, now that’s not very discreet, is it, boy?—and Tom fidgets with the collar of his leather jacket a bit, knowing Chris is watching, watching his hand, those big blue innocent eyes drawn to the motion.
He keeps his own expression pleasantly neutral as he, without really thinking, of course, runs the backs of his long fingers across his throat, just brushing the bend of his collarbone. Certainly not a calculated movement, meant to guide those eyes along the same path; certainly not meant to play on the other man’s penchant for leaving red-purple marks on that particular area of skin.
(It’s possible that Tom has been answering to “Loki” for a few months too long.)
Chris’s tongue slides over to the corner of his lovely mouth, his lower lip curling in just a bit (and the way he bites his lip in idle moments, like a teenager, is only one of many little endearing things about him). Tom wraps his hand absently round his throat, just letting it rest there for a second or two, just long enough for Chris to get the message. He can hear the soft, hissing breath Chris lets out between pursed lips, and he wonders if Chris even realizes what he’s doing, eyeing his co-star in a decidedly un-brotherly way right in front of the cameras—and no doubt after this interview drops, thousands of people will see it, thousands of people will see the way that Chris Hemsworth is almost salivating at Tom Hiddleston, and the rumors will fly, oh yes, every one of those people will talk…
…and Chris has absolutely no clue, does he? It’s adorable how naive he is.
Tom isn’t that much older than he, only a few years, but Chris is such a boy sometimes Tom can’t help but call him that. Do you want this? Do you? Boy? Answer me. Do you want my cock? Show me how much. That’s not good enough, boy. Harder. Yes.
And Chris is surely going to slam him into a wall later tonight, back at their hotel, for teasing him during an interview, for making his lips itch to fasten around Tom’s jugular and suck, for making his hands twitch in eagerness to close around his neck and squeeze. He’s going to growl, and scratch, and bruise, and bite, and Tom plans to let him, might even let him top if he’s good for the rest of the evening, does as he’s told and restrains himself until they reach the hotel room. If he doesn’t, well, he’s going to have to work a bit harder for what he wants, isn’t he?
Tom suppresses a smile at the thought.