Bromance: A Hiddlesworth Story

Tom supposed if there was a bloke he’d actually get with, it would probably be Chris Hemsworth. He observed him directly on his exit from the shower, uncertain exactly how a guy with a body like that only scored around five percent of the votes for World’s Sexiest Man, while he scored over seventy percent, himself; he almost felt he had to apologize. He’d say to Chris, I’d have voted for you. I did vote for you.

He admitted inwardly that even while he’d only ever fancied women, there was something mesmerizing in watching him disrobed, clear streamlets of water glittering down the tanned expanse of his sculpted chest. Surely everyone understood that…?

There were all manner of props brought to the set that would never be used, briefcases of all shapes and sizes and weapon props that lined two entire walls; there also was Loki’s helmet, Tom brought it along for luck. It remained on the dining room table because it was too big to fit on any shelf.

He’d got in the shower after Chris, still catching glimpses of his towel in the bedroom where he was drying his hair, vague, familiar motions somewhere in the background. He hoped there was some hot water left, in Iceland you’d run out very fast.

It was evening, they were going to watch some films, at least the heating worked well; Tom had got a towel round his waist and stepped out, uselessly combing his hair at the basin. Chris already was dressed, he stepped in behind him, carrying Loki’s helmet. “Move your arms,” he asked, and Tom chuckled in confusion, he dodged a little but stood still when Chris asked a second time. Chris very gingerly placed the helmet on his head and stood back, observing as though deep in thought.

“You’d definitely have to wear that,” he concluded, and Tom gently adjusted the helmet, it was a bit lopsided to the left. “Only that?” he laughed, and Chris stood back with his arms crossed, like he were weighing it in mind. “Only that, and you have to say, Kneel…!”

“Thought you’d want me in those handcuffs,” Tom said, now taking the helmet off, “and that, you know—” he motioned round his mouth. They’d really spent so many hours with those props on set, they’d long since worn out every conceivable innuendo.

“Nah,” Chris said, “Never really liked the handcuffs.”

“Gentle guy after all,” Tom replied, finally walking into the bedroom. He carefully placed his helmet on the bed before proceeding to dress, his short hair now even messier than before.

They’d been halfway through the movie when Tom spontaneously asked, “Does she, really?”

Like he didn’t know. Like Elsa hadn’t said the same thing to him several weeks before.

Chris turned his gaze momentarily to him, then to the telly again. “Yeah,” he said plainly, voice somehow soft. “She does.”

Silence.

“And what, does she want it recorded? Like with your phone and that?”

Chris laughed. “She’d probably like that,” he said, eyes still on the screen.

After several moments more, he turned back to Tom, deliberately smiling. “Nah, I won’t be recor—” He stopped mid-sentence, laughing fully now, head tilted back— because there he was actually considering it.

Tom leaned back on the couch, also laughing, one hand rubbing his chin.

Chris wouldn’t be the type of guy who’d just bang you; Tom imagined he’d take proper care of him after, they were brothers, after all. He’d probably spoon with him after, then kiss him behind the ear, all the stuff Tom would have done with a woman, which now he tried to imagine being done to him.

Fucking hell, they both were actually considering it now.

“You’re really thinking it,” Tom said with an incredulous smile, “you’re really thinking of doing it.”

Chris raised an eyebrow; he turned to face Tom from where he was watching TV.

“Well, yeah…!” he laughed, his voice came low and deep.

The smiles remained plastered to their faces for several surreal moments, like they didn’t know what to do with them; they regarded each other as the full weight of the matter slowly sank in.

“All right,” Tom finally said, like it were any challenge he was willing to try, “and she’s really okay with this?”

Chris’ expression grew a bit serious; his eyes darted over Tom’s face and he nodded slowly, uncertain now that the matter required his consent. “Yeah,” he said very softly, “yeah, she is.”

Silence.

Telly still on, discordant some distance away; vague sound of cars swishing along the road outside, a helicopter flying overhead.

“C’mere,” Tom’s voice came low, he leaned sideward to face Chris on the couch. Chris hesitated; he blinked, met Tom’s gaze, hands still in his lap; then he moved in to close the small distance between them.

He’d not kissed anyone with such experimental chastity since adolescence.