Bromance: A Hiddlesworth Story

“Do you know what we’re about to do?”

Tom was on the phone to Elsa; Chris had made the call.

“Something you wish you could watch,” Chris laughed from where they’d lain on his bed.

“That’s not very nice,” Tom said, ever the gentleman; he made him apologize. They were secretly grateful to do it for her, so they couldn’t blame themselves; “Not pissed, are you?” Elsa asked, and Tom elegantly replied, “We are one hundred percent sober.”

She didn’t stay on the line beyond that, it wouldn’t be magical.

Tom and Chris were also aware they were meant to make it somehow magical; they were actors, so they ought to pull that off, even if they’d be on to each other all throughout.

“They would have loved to see me carry you into the room,” Chris said, “Kind of— lower you onto the mattress—”

“Probably in full Thor and Loki costumes, have they got any idea how long it would take to disrobe?”

“Reckon they’d like all the leather.”

They went quiet after that; gray silhouettes on the wall, Chris’ hands very gently went to the fastens of Tom’s shirt. He worked delicately at the buttons, Tom gazed sheepishly down, like he didn’t know what to do in the meantime; he smiled, is this how it would have felt if he’d had an older brother? Either way, he was surprised by how natural it felt for Chris to do so.

From close up, Tom smelled nice; clean and distinctly male, like guys when they leave for work in the morning. He accommodated when Chris pulled off the sleeves, he looked good with his shirt off.

“Right, come here,” he said, tugging Chris by the arm, he lay on his back and Chris attempted very carefully not to place his weight on him as he climbed over. They regarded each other from close up, eyes darting over one another’s face; there came the humid expiration of breath between them, somehow this was familiar, too.

“On three,” Tom’s voice came very gentle, vulnerable, he may well have said kiss me. They counted silently, suddenly shy, Chris got his forearm behind Tom’s head as he leaned in.

There was unearthly innocence about it, they didn’t stop while Tom reached to tug at the fabric of Chris’ shirt.

“Bollocks, your pecs,” he laughed, voice issuing muffled, his hands trailed over Chris’ perfect chest and abdomen, and Chris regarded him sheepishly; he smiled like he’d been caught doing something wrong.

He pulled back in order to tug his shirt off, his hair came undone and fell messy in his eyes. When they kissed after that, they forgot momentarily about discipline; they’d got their hands on each other, aware that it was weird, but also that the feel of human flesh was not something unfamiliar, that they’d already known each other quite well.

They stilled all at once when they felt quite distinctly they both were hard.

Propped by the elbows, Tom glanced silently between them, and Chris followed suit, he laughed and got his hand on Tom’s.

“Oh— no, don’t do—” Tom started, his voice died in his throat when Chris got his hand on the front of his trousers.

Their eyes slowly met; they both grinned, embarrassed, aware the goal was not to back out; any guy would be lying if he’d said he’d never been curious. Tom had seen him naked before, but he’d not actually touched it.

He deliberately didn’t let go. His long fingers traced the member from outside the fabric of his jeans, inquisitive, if they had been brothers, would they have done this?

Would they have compared sizes and lengths and girths, sometime in adolescence?

Chris didn’t tell him outright it felt nice, but Tom could see it in his expression; they gazed curiously down, neither saying a word when Tom’s slender hands went for the buckle of Chris’ belt. He helped him along, there came the familiar clink of the belt, the slide of fabric, Chris really looked fantastic without clothes on.

After they’d got the fly undone, they both hesitated. “Mate, you don’t have to,” Chris said apologetically, but Tom couldn’t back out. “Yeah, I do,” he replied, he gripped the heavy denim at the edge of Chris’ jeans and tugged them down.

Can’t believe we’re doing this.

“You really don’t have—  Oh, fucking hell.”

Tom had actually got his hand on his member; Chris stared at him with a combination of shock and enjoyment, really fighting to somehow be cool about this.

“You…” his voice came low and deep, his hand came on Tom’s hand on his member like he was trying to stop him from what he already had done.

Tom gazed up as in inquiry, “Yes, I have my hand on your cock, this is very weird.”

“Very weird,” Chris squeaked, his voice strained; he flushed to hear him say it.

After they’d mutually concluded how utterly weird it was and that was out of the way, Tom turned his attention directly to the matter at hand, aware Chris really had the body of a god but uncertain if he could actually go through with this.

He reached with his tongue very tentatively to lick him just at the very tip, he heard Chris gasp, like he’d stopped caring altogether that he was a bloke.

“That’s well nice,” Chris said, Tom licked his lips absently and laughed.

“Yeah?” he asked, suddenly aware he took it as a compliment.