Switch
(or: for God's sake, don't read this, it is the single most embarrassing thing in the history of things.)
Pairing: Tom Hiddleston/OFC/Tom Hardy
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: RPF, dirty talk, mild bondage, fistfighting, shameless Mary Sue sexings
Word count: ~4,400
Disclaimer: These are not even close to the real people themselves, I just taped less pretend over their characters than I usually do
Summary: Hiddleston likes to bite. Hardy likes to fight. A ridiculous amount of porn ensues. CRACK CRACK CRACK.
She’s taped to a chair.
This is the kind of thing that happens in movies, but then these people are in movies, and to be honest she’s not complaining; she’s been on the set of this movie for all of a month, and she’s put makeup on a lot of beautiful faces, and as much as some of them flirt she really never thought any of them would follow up on it.
Although, if you’d asked her two days ago who she thought she might have a chance with, it wouldn’t have been Hiddleston. (Actually she’d have laughed in your face and said, George the catering guy.) Because Hiddleston flirted, yes, but in a distinguished, polite way, with his eyes crinkling up at the corners while she tried to line them, whereas Hardy…
Hardy looked at her like a piece of meat, and it turned her on.
They were both good guys, as far as she could tell. For all his smoldering blue-eyed stares, many of which lingered blatantly on her ass, Hardy was the type to open doors for the ladies and obey when you told him to stop moving his damn mouth (which was so pretty that she could hardly stand it, getting paid to dab lip stain on that pout).
And the less was said about the day Hiddleston found the puppy, the better. Five weeks after that incident, one of the staff had discovered she was pregnant, and they all blamed Hiddleston for making everyone ovulate.
But after a month of eyeshadow and pancake makeup and carefully applied dirt, Hiddleston was the one that caught her hand (sponging a bit of primer around his collarbone in preparation for a fake wound) and fixed her with his wicked gaze and whispered: my trailer, nine, if you dare.
And now it was nine-fifteen, she already had a bruise on her shoulder and his bitemarks on her neck, and she was taped to a fucking chair while he smirked at her, half naked and half-unzipped, tapping his chin as he considered what to do with her. There was absolutely nothing about puppies or politeness in his eyes.
She was still tied to the chair when there was an explosion, which turned out to be the door of the trailer crashing in, and four seconds later Hardy’s massive shoulders scraped the narrow trailer hall as he barged into the room.
Her first thought was to cover herself, which was thwarted by her hands being tied to the chair-not behind her back, movie-style, but down along the back legs of the chair, her wrists and forearms taped along the rear supports and her legs to the front, knees splayed. She wasn’t even naked yet, although in the ten minutes since Hiddleston’s slow burning kisses had turned into something vicious and triumphant, her dress had vanished and her bra seemed to have come undone in back.
Her second thought was sheer terror, because Hardy’s face was a mask of rage, and before he was fully in the room he was already flying at Hiddleston, fists swinging. “Shit,” she said, “oh my god,” which was all she could get out before Hiddleston dodged the first punch, caught the second in the chest, and was crushed to the floor under the incredible mass of Hardy’s muscular torso. Hardy’s hipbone landed across her right foot. She was going to pass out for sure.
Hardy seized Hiddleston by the sides of the head and snarled at him: “You asshole, you fucking bastard-”
“What are you doing,” demanded Hiddleston, and hove himself up, surprising them both with his strength as he forced Hardy to roll away.
“You knew,” said Hardy, pulling himself back upright. His t-shirt was soaked with sweat and he had torn his jeans on something when he went down, and he was still out of breath. “I told Ryan, and I know he told you, you fucking asshole.”
Hiddleston, back on his feet and perfectly in control of himself, dusted his bare arms as if straightening an expensive suit, wincing only slightly as he ran a hand over his ribs. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, Tom.”
“You’re a fucking liar,” spat Hardy. “I told Ryan, and Ryan told you, and you’ve got her, got her taped to a chair,” he was beyond fury, tearing his fingers through his hair and wiping his mouth, “and I can’t believe you, asshole.”
“Mmmm. Right.” Hiddleston’s smirk turned on a hinge and was something white-hot and gloating instead. “You would have made your move eventually, I suppose? When you felt the time was right?”
“I wouldn’t have fucking tied her down, man.”
At this, Hiddleston tilted his head, examining her again for the first time since Hardy’s… arrival. “Perhaps she likes it,” he mused, and fuck if she wasn’t instantly wetter than she’d ever been, even trapped like this with Hardy’s gaze locked onto her and Hiddleston treating her like a lab specimen.
“Bullshit,” said Hardy, as if he were looking at a live unicorn. Hiddleston just laughed, turning to his bedside dresser and rummaging through the top drawer.
“You’re a nice guy, Tom,” said Hiddleston, and he wasn’t even quite condescending about it. “You’re the type that takes a girl out on at least two dates before he puts his hand down her shirt, and I like that about you. You move slow, and that leaves room for me to move first.”
He retrieved a pair of scissors from the drawer, not paper scissors but full-sized sewing shears, and held them up to the light with an expression of grave satisfaction. “You’re a gentleman, Tom, for all that you hit first and talk later.”
Hardy hadn’t taken his eyes off her, and she watched him right back, like a deer facing a predator, a little out of breath just from the fight-or-flight shocks that still came over her. This is ridiculous, she told herself. Hardy’s not the dangerous one in this room.
“So what I want to know, Tom, is this: did she lead you on?” Hiddleston leaned down close to her ear, close enough that his breath moved her hair; she shuddered. “Did she promise you anything?”
“No promises, exactly,” said Hardy, who sounded like he was choking. “I saw her earlier and I said-- I said I would like to see her later--”
Her face went white. Okay, so that had been a pretty blatant come-on, and if she remembered correctly he hadn’t been subtle at all, but she was so fixed on nine and if you dare that she hadn’t connected the dots. Hiddleston hissed into the shell of her ear.
“After we spoke, Mona?”
All right, she was screwed, and possibly not in the good way. “Yes,” she said, and a thrill of real fear went through her, not even the sweat-and-punches adrenaline of earlier but something she’d never felt before. Hiddleston was dangerous. What the hell had she been thinking, letting him tape her to a chair?
And for that matter, when was Hardy going to step in? She was reasonably sure that Hardy wouldn’t let Hiddleston murder her in cold blood, but he wasn’t doing a thing about this right now, about Hiddleston leaning in and breathing across her neck and laying his hand, with the scissors in his grasp, on her thigh like a threat. She flicked her eyes up, daring to look past Hiddleston’s stray locks that dangled in her face to see Hardy sitting on the bed opposite the chair. It was a narrow trailer, and there wasn’t anywhere else for him to sit, but by god he looked edible lying like that with his long thick legs kicked out across the floor and his eyes burning holes in her. One of his hands lay on his thigh, perilously close to his groin, and as he met her eyes his fingers twitched.
God damn.
But now Hiddleston straightened up, startling her, and seized her shoulder, yanking her hard enough to jolt the chair around so that she was half facing him and fully facing Hardy. “Did you think you were going to get away with this,” he snarled. “Do you think I would have let him touch you? Perhaps you thought you could have it both ways, me tonight and him afterward?”
Well, now that he put it that way--
“Do you think, Mona, that he could do things like this to you? Or would you be content with a quick fuck in the dark with my coworker and leave me none the wiser?”
Hardy went to say something, and Hiddleston barked at him: shut UP, Tom, and he turned back to her with a sudden spreading smile, an expression of not-quite-innocence, eyebrows that rose soothingly as he knelt down in front of her.
“We’ll see if you really do want that,” he said, and without further preamble he gripped her by the hipbone-- making her shriek and struggle-- and pulled her forward, slipped his scissors under the edge of her underwear and cut through them with two quick sawing motions of his hand. She tried to kick at him, and only succeeded in scooting the chair a half-inch across the floor; behind Hiddleston, Hardy sat forward, moving to the edge of the bed. He was not moving to protect her; he was spellbound, starving, trying to see everything Hiddleston saw as he finished cutting away the scraps of cloth that had once protected her from view.
“Soaking wet,” Hiddleston said, satisfied and vicious. “Look at her, Tom, can you see from back there? Can you--”
She tried to clamp her legs together, gaining a surprising amount of coverage given that her legs were firmly taped, and Hiddleston cursed and slapped her thigh hard and seized her knees to pull them apart. “Whore,” he said, “open your legs, you filthy child,” and he buried his face in the crux of her thighs.
She screamed, and Hardy jerked as if he’d forgotten she had a voice, and then she whimpered as she felt him breathing her in, not moving, just breathing. After a moment he groaned, delighted, his fingers digging into the flesh above her knees. She squirmed to get away, and he bit her. Hard. Hard enough to leave a mark, high enough on her thigh that the skin was thin and sensitive.
She screamed again, but before she could even breathe in to scream once more Hardy had tackled Hiddleston and was absolutely beating the shit out of him, landing blows on his torso and one on his face, splitting his lip-- which she would have to conceal tomorrow, damn them-- and absolutely wrecking the trailer as they rolled back and forth, punching and kicking and clawing.
“TOM,” she yelled, terrified for her life, and they both looked up, pausing in their fight.
“Get me out of this chair,” she added, before they could pick it back up again. “If you’re going to kill each other, I’m leaving.”
To their credit, they managed to rein in their hostility long enough to work together at un-taping her, though Hiddleston ran his hands up her calves as he unbound them and Hardy aimed a kick at him for it, then (with no finesse at all) roughly grabbed her breast and worked it in his hand. She could feel his defiant glare without even having to see, and she wriggled to distract them, even though it meant giving up Hardy’s massive hands on her and Hiddleston’s covert caresses.
Soon she was completely unbound, and shaking slightly, looking around for what remained of her clothing. Her underwear were, unfortunately, a ruin; her bra was still halfway on, undone in the back and falling off her shoulders from Hardy’s enthusiastic attention. Her dress, it seemed, was crumpled up on the bed, behind the wall of angry muscle that was Hardy, and she would have to get past him to reach it.
But an impulse came over her, a flare of spite at Hiddleston and regret that she’d not had a chance to taste his true ire, and instead of leaping for her dress she leaned up against Hardy and kissed him, hard.
He was shocked for a second, paralyzed, and then his hands came up (huge but so delicate, so careful) and held her around the waist; his lips, soft and silky and behind that full of teeth, moved over the contours of her mouth and suckled at her lower lip, and she kissed him for at least a few delirious seconds before Hiddleston took her by the hips and forced her ass back against him with a possessive snarl.
And, okay, this was going to balloon out of control, but for all Hiddleston’s talk of quick fucks in the dark, Hardy was one hell of a kisser, and she wasn’t done kissing him yet, even if Hiddleston’s hands were bruising her and he seemed determined to pull her away. She wasn’t going anywhere--
This was the moment, of course, when Hiddleston understood, and instead of trying to pull her out of Hardy’s grasp he slipped one hand around and began touching her, carefully, avoiding the precise spot she wanted him to touch but leaving trails of sensation in places that really needed attention. She groaned into Hardy’s mouth and squirmed, trying to force Hiddleston to play his hand, but instead he teased her until she was half insane (which didn’t take long) and then, when she pulled away from Hardy to gasp, dragged her back bodily into his arms.
There was more teasing, and she made some embarrassing sounds, and Hardy took all of four seconds to shuck off his shirt and his jeans until he was standing in front of her naked, and then he pounced again.
The force of his assault slammed Hiddleston back against the bed, sitting him down with her pulled into his lap and Hardy on top of them both, and of course Hiddleston hit him in the side. They rolled over, nearly crushing her between them, and she saw to her left Hardy’s fist drawing back and swinging forward. She felt the impact throughout Hiddleston’s body, felt him recoil, saw him reach up and push Hardy’s forehead back until he was bowed backwards and howling, and each movement they made ground her between their bodies; Hiddleston, especially, seemed determined to keep her moving back and forth across Hardy’s thigh. When she cried out, she felt Hiddleston’s smirk curling against her neck and heard Hardy recover his posture and grunt, oh yeah you like that don’t you, and of course Hiddleston took exception to that since it was his victory and how dare Hardy intrude?
She learned quickly that Hiddleston was all finesse and art, maddening her by controlling her movements, seizing moments from his ongoing fight with Hardy to bite her when she cried out, to pull her thighs up and spread her wide open and defenseless, to rise up occasionally and spank her hard enough to jolt her out of her terror and bliss and leave her groaning.
Hardy, though, might have been held back by manners before, but now that his guard was down he was like an animal, all gripping hands and powerful chest and rutting cock leaving wet trails on her belly. When she pulled away from him to lean back and kiss Hiddleston, he growled at her and pulled her away by the hair at the nape of her neck, dragging her mouth helplessly back to his while Hiddleston went back to nipping at her throat.
They were fighting; they were fucking, they were fucking her and they quite possibly wanted to kill each other over the fact.
Finally Hardy snaked an arm between her and Hiddleston and, with a twist, flung his assailant on the floor, bouncing Hiddleston against half the furniture in the tiny room until he landed with one hand gripping the seat of the chair (still festooned with tape) and hauled himself upright, panting, eyes black with rage. He wiped his mouth gingerly-- there was blood-- and, while she watched him fearfully with her head twisted over her shoulder, he finished unzipping his pants and kicked them off, never taking his eyes from her. He was going to kill her. He was also going to kill Hardy, who was doing something underneath her that she failed to recognize until he lifted her with one hand clasped around her buttock and set his cock at her entrance.
“Oh god,” she said fervently, and there was nothing to do but take it, so take it she did. She couldn’t bounce, exactly; his hands gripped her waist and kept her from struggling away or gaining too much altitude from his thrusts, and the thing was fucking massive. She scarcely heard Hiddleston’s ragged breathing as he watched, but after a few moments she felt his fingers on her, his hand reaching around to grasp her by the chin and twist her head toward him. It put her at a difficult angle, with Hardy still pounding her and calling her name, trying to get her attention even though with Hiddleston’s fingers slipping into her mouth she couldn’t have turned to look at him even if she weren’t thoroughly preoccupied with Hiddleston’s lips catching hers, fingers and all. Or Hiddleston’s teeth, god the man loved to bite.
“Turn around,” demanded Hiddleston, and when Hardy failed to release his grip on her waist he fixed him with a cold command: let go, Tom, and by god Hardy let go exactly as he said. The thought shivered her: Hardy might fight, but Hiddleston was in charge here.
Hardy even paused in his thrusting long enough for her to twist around, and took the opportunity to struggle up onto his elbows for a better view; over her shoulder she saw the look of dark focus on his face, the flush rising from his chest, and when she felt Hiddleston’s fingers in her hair (pulling her forward, forcing her face down) she went quietly, knowing that Hardy wouldn’t stop this.
If anything, Hardy seemed to love it, rocking up into her with a slow but intense pressure so as not to jar her unmercifully while Hiddleston choked her with his cock, pulled back, let her breathe, and buried himself in her mouth again. Sputtering, she shook her head violently, and Hiddleston took the hint and let her swallow him at her own pace and depth. She supposed the initial viciousness had been punishment, Hiddleston’s chosen price for the pleasure she was taking from Hardy’s rhythm, but (if she flattered herself, so be it) she was quite good at this, and she wanted to do it right.
Hiddleston seemed to agree, burying one hand in her hair and holding himself steady with his legs braced apart so that he didn’t thrust into her throat. Unfortunately, that left Hardy the only one with any sort of attention to spare for words, and naturally he said something about second best that earned a sharp curse from Hiddleston.
“You can’t imagine,” continued Hardy, “she’s so fucking tight, she’s so into this. You hear those noises she’s making? She’s making those noises because of my dick, asshole, she’s fucking eating this up even with your cock in her windpipe--”
Hiddleston was the tackler this time, withdrawing from her mouth and tossing her over backward before she even realized what was happening. Hardy’s cock slipped out of her with an audible wet sound, and Hiddleston simply climbed on top of her-- on top of both of them-- and replaced Hardy’s cock with his own, riding her into Hardy’s chest and belly while Hardy bucked and complained and groaned underneath, a broken chain of please and come on and you asshole, you bastard.
Meanwhile, she was giving Hiddleston his effort’s worth in various noises. He wasn’t quite as massive as Hardy, but he knew exactly what he was doing, and it was toe-curlingly good. Hardy had her by the waist, steadying her for Hiddleston’s onslaught and rutting up against her so that his cock rode between her buttocks, still wet from being inside her.
Hiddleston was certainly a master of self-control, and he was nowhere near orgasm when Hardy roared with frustration and dragged her back up toward him, leaving her bereft of the very good things that Hiddleston had been doing, and (with a few clumsy, aggressive motions) filled her back up and tore into her with almost no restraint.
And, all right, she might be giving Hiddleston credit for his stamina, but Hardy plowed her with utter abandon for what felt like ages, vocally enjoying every second of it while Hiddleston kissed and bit her and touched and flicked her, his fingertips bouncing occasionally off the skin of Hardy’s driving cock as he chased her to the edge. Soon she was gasping, trying to warn him, but unable to get enough air to make words; he grinned at her, cruel and spiteful, and said in her ear (just loud enough for Hardy to hear): “Go ahead, Mona, you can’t stop yourself, I know. Come for me, come because I told you to, do it now,” and if she could have held back just to spite him she would have, but his clever fingers knew their work and even while Hardy spat insults at Hiddleston he could not hold himself back, and between the two of them she came until she was wracked with convulsions and sobbing for breath. And still Hardy kept on, until she finally collapsed back onto his body, nearly weeping.
“You don’t have to look so goddamn smug,” said Hardy, once he had forced himself to still (though he twitched upward occasionally, still unsatisfied but perfectly willing, as always, to wait). “You aren’t the only fucker in the world who can find a woman’s clit. And my dick was doing half the work for you.”
“Really,” said Hiddleston, raking his hair back with his fingernails and looking extremely disgruntled at the loss of momentum. “Switch?”
Hardy groaned whole-heartedly, but he withdrew-- again-- and cradled her on his chest, cupping her mons with his right hand and flicking at her nipple with his left while Hiddleston knelt over them both and set, once again, to fucking her.
It was just as good as before, even though she was incredibly sensitive now; Hiddleston knew how to be gentle, knew how to use that gentleness to deceive her into relaxing before pushing her suddenly. The careful pace left her enough awareness to notice small things: the thin mattress creaking as Hiddleston’s knees and Hardy’s hips dug into it, the crinkle of Hardy’s leg hair against her thighs as he kept her spread open, and the fierce delight in Hiddleston’s eyes, not caring whether he won this fight as long as it was his fight.
But before long, the pace wasn’t enough for either of them-- especially since Hardy wasn’t holding back, rutting against her ass and rubbing her with inexhaustible energy-- and Hiddleston’s hips began to snap, the base of his belly slamming into Hardy’s knuckles and making him curse. She didn’t particularly care. There was no time for her to readjust or angle her hips; she was already on the edge, and when she saw Hiddleston’s brows draw up and his eyes narrow as if in pain, felt the beginning flutters of his coming inside her, she lost whatever grip she had on self-control and came right along with him.
A few seconds passed; in her gasping aftershocks she felt Hiddleston slipping out of her, and felt him panting as he reeled away. Before she could even clutch at him, Hardy lifted her bodily, using her pubic arch as a crude gripping point, and plunged himself unreservedly into her.
She was very wet, with the aftermath of two orgasms and Hiddleston’s come inside her; almost too wet, if Hardy had been smaller. Instead, he stretched her, and she had almost enough time to begin to feel uncomfortable-- her oversensitized body demanding rest-- when he tensed up and drew his entire body up in a bow, cursing as he filled her too.
“Disgusting,” said Hiddleston, who had sat back in the chair with his heels crossed on the edge of the bed, glistening with sweat and looking unutterably smug. “Or do sloppy seconds not bother you?”
“I don’t give a fuck,” growled Hardy, once he had fallen back on the bed with his arms flung out and had a moment to gather his breath. “I really don’t give a fuck.”
Mona slipped off him with a slight wince, and winced again as various fluids pooled on Hardy’s abdomen. “Is there a towel,” she said, and then shrieked as Hardy flopped over on his side to wrap her in his enormous arms and pull her down into an incredibly sticky, wet, awkward cuddling position, laughing in his throat as she squirmed and complained.
“Disgusting,” said Hiddleston again, and threw a towel at them. “I do have to sleep there.”
“Do you now,” said Hardy, face buried in Mona’s neck. “I wouldn’t, if I were you. For one thing, nobody’s moving me for another hour, and I swear to god if you touch me I’ll murder you,” this as Hiddleston stood and stretched with his knee brushing Mona’s shin and threatening to displace Hardy’s leg, wrapped around her.
“You already tried that,” shot back Hiddleston, perching his ass on the side of the bed and toying, almost fondly, with Mona’s hair. “I don’t see that it’s solved anything. She still hasn’t chosen, have you, dear?”
“Do I have to choose?” She looked up at Hiddleston, amazed at the way his venom had smoothed into his normal, affable, kind-hearted expression. “You could scare me wet, and Hardy could cuddle me afterward.”
Hiddleston laughed at that, tilting his head back and letting his voice ring out clear and delighted. “I suppose you can’t be expected to choose right now,” he said, nodding meaningfully at Hardy (nearly unconscious and almost smothering her with his skin). “But eventually, Mona, you will have to choose.”
There was a moment of clear threat, an invitation that she knew she would never dare to refuse; then Hiddleston stood, smiled a true gentleman’s smile at her, and went to take a shower, leaving her buried in Hardy’s arms.
Pairing: Tom Hiddleston/OFC/Tom Hardy
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: RPF, dirty talk, mild bondage, fistfighting, shameless Mary Sue sexings
Word count: ~4,400
Disclaimer: These are not even close to the real people themselves, I just taped less pretend over their characters than I usually do
Summary: Hiddleston likes to bite. Hardy likes to fight. A ridiculous amount of porn ensues. CRACK CRACK CRACK.
She’s taped to a chair.
This is the kind of thing that happens in movies, but then these people are in movies, and to be honest she’s not complaining; she’s been on the set of this movie for all of a month, and she’s put makeup on a lot of beautiful faces, and as much as some of them flirt she really never thought any of them would follow up on it.
Although, if you’d asked her two days ago who she thought she might have a chance with, it wouldn’t have been Hiddleston. (Actually she’d have laughed in your face and said, George the catering guy.) Because Hiddleston flirted, yes, but in a distinguished, polite way, with his eyes crinkling up at the corners while she tried to line them, whereas Hardy…
Hardy looked at her like a piece of meat, and it turned her on.
They were both good guys, as far as she could tell. For all his smoldering blue-eyed stares, many of which lingered blatantly on her ass, Hardy was the type to open doors for the ladies and obey when you told him to stop moving his damn mouth (which was so pretty that she could hardly stand it, getting paid to dab lip stain on that pout).
And the less was said about the day Hiddleston found the puppy, the better. Five weeks after that incident, one of the staff had discovered she was pregnant, and they all blamed Hiddleston for making everyone ovulate.
But after a month of eyeshadow and pancake makeup and carefully applied dirt, Hiddleston was the one that caught her hand (sponging a bit of primer around his collarbone in preparation for a fake wound) and fixed her with his wicked gaze and whispered: my trailer, nine, if you dare.
And now it was nine-fifteen, she already had a bruise on her shoulder and his bitemarks on her neck, and she was taped to a fucking chair while he smirked at her, half naked and half-unzipped, tapping his chin as he considered what to do with her. There was absolutely nothing about puppies or politeness in his eyes.
She was still tied to the chair when there was an explosion, which turned out to be the door of the trailer crashing in, and four seconds later Hardy’s massive shoulders scraped the narrow trailer hall as he barged into the room.
Her first thought was to cover herself, which was thwarted by her hands being tied to the chair-not behind her back, movie-style, but down along the back legs of the chair, her wrists and forearms taped along the rear supports and her legs to the front, knees splayed. She wasn’t even naked yet, although in the ten minutes since Hiddleston’s slow burning kisses had turned into something vicious and triumphant, her dress had vanished and her bra seemed to have come undone in back.
Her second thought was sheer terror, because Hardy’s face was a mask of rage, and before he was fully in the room he was already flying at Hiddleston, fists swinging. “Shit,” she said, “oh my god,” which was all she could get out before Hiddleston dodged the first punch, caught the second in the chest, and was crushed to the floor under the incredible mass of Hardy’s muscular torso. Hardy’s hipbone landed across her right foot. She was going to pass out for sure.
Hardy seized Hiddleston by the sides of the head and snarled at him: “You asshole, you fucking bastard-”
“What are you doing,” demanded Hiddleston, and hove himself up, surprising them both with his strength as he forced Hardy to roll away.
“You knew,” said Hardy, pulling himself back upright. His t-shirt was soaked with sweat and he had torn his jeans on something when he went down, and he was still out of breath. “I told Ryan, and I know he told you, you fucking asshole.”
Hiddleston, back on his feet and perfectly in control of himself, dusted his bare arms as if straightening an expensive suit, wincing only slightly as he ran a hand over his ribs. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, Tom.”
“You’re a fucking liar,” spat Hardy. “I told Ryan, and Ryan told you, and you’ve got her, got her taped to a chair,” he was beyond fury, tearing his fingers through his hair and wiping his mouth, “and I can’t believe you, asshole.”
“Mmmm. Right.” Hiddleston’s smirk turned on a hinge and was something white-hot and gloating instead. “You would have made your move eventually, I suppose? When you felt the time was right?”
“I wouldn’t have fucking tied her down, man.”
At this, Hiddleston tilted his head, examining her again for the first time since Hardy’s… arrival. “Perhaps she likes it,” he mused, and fuck if she wasn’t instantly wetter than she’d ever been, even trapped like this with Hardy’s gaze locked onto her and Hiddleston treating her like a lab specimen.
“Bullshit,” said Hardy, as if he were looking at a live unicorn. Hiddleston just laughed, turning to his bedside dresser and rummaging through the top drawer.
“You’re a nice guy, Tom,” said Hiddleston, and he wasn’t even quite condescending about it. “You’re the type that takes a girl out on at least two dates before he puts his hand down her shirt, and I like that about you. You move slow, and that leaves room for me to move first.”
He retrieved a pair of scissors from the drawer, not paper scissors but full-sized sewing shears, and held them up to the light with an expression of grave satisfaction. “You’re a gentleman, Tom, for all that you hit first and talk later.”
Hardy hadn’t taken his eyes off her, and she watched him right back, like a deer facing a predator, a little out of breath just from the fight-or-flight shocks that still came over her. This is ridiculous, she told herself. Hardy’s not the dangerous one in this room.
“So what I want to know, Tom, is this: did she lead you on?” Hiddleston leaned down close to her ear, close enough that his breath moved her hair; she shuddered. “Did she promise you anything?”
“No promises, exactly,” said Hardy, who sounded like he was choking. “I saw her earlier and I said-- I said I would like to see her later--”
Her face went white. Okay, so that had been a pretty blatant come-on, and if she remembered correctly he hadn’t been subtle at all, but she was so fixed on nine and if you dare that she hadn’t connected the dots. Hiddleston hissed into the shell of her ear.
“After we spoke, Mona?”
All right, she was screwed, and possibly not in the good way. “Yes,” she said, and a thrill of real fear went through her, not even the sweat-and-punches adrenaline of earlier but something she’d never felt before. Hiddleston was dangerous. What the hell had she been thinking, letting him tape her to a chair?
And for that matter, when was Hardy going to step in? She was reasonably sure that Hardy wouldn’t let Hiddleston murder her in cold blood, but he wasn’t doing a thing about this right now, about Hiddleston leaning in and breathing across her neck and laying his hand, with the scissors in his grasp, on her thigh like a threat. She flicked her eyes up, daring to look past Hiddleston’s stray locks that dangled in her face to see Hardy sitting on the bed opposite the chair. It was a narrow trailer, and there wasn’t anywhere else for him to sit, but by god he looked edible lying like that with his long thick legs kicked out across the floor and his eyes burning holes in her. One of his hands lay on his thigh, perilously close to his groin, and as he met her eyes his fingers twitched.
God damn.
But now Hiddleston straightened up, startling her, and seized her shoulder, yanking her hard enough to jolt the chair around so that she was half facing him and fully facing Hardy. “Did you think you were going to get away with this,” he snarled. “Do you think I would have let him touch you? Perhaps you thought you could have it both ways, me tonight and him afterward?”
Well, now that he put it that way--
“Do you think, Mona, that he could do things like this to you? Or would you be content with a quick fuck in the dark with my coworker and leave me none the wiser?”
Hardy went to say something, and Hiddleston barked at him: shut UP, Tom, and he turned back to her with a sudden spreading smile, an expression of not-quite-innocence, eyebrows that rose soothingly as he knelt down in front of her.
“We’ll see if you really do want that,” he said, and without further preamble he gripped her by the hipbone-- making her shriek and struggle-- and pulled her forward, slipped his scissors under the edge of her underwear and cut through them with two quick sawing motions of his hand. She tried to kick at him, and only succeeded in scooting the chair a half-inch across the floor; behind Hiddleston, Hardy sat forward, moving to the edge of the bed. He was not moving to protect her; he was spellbound, starving, trying to see everything Hiddleston saw as he finished cutting away the scraps of cloth that had once protected her from view.
“Soaking wet,” Hiddleston said, satisfied and vicious. “Look at her, Tom, can you see from back there? Can you--”
She tried to clamp her legs together, gaining a surprising amount of coverage given that her legs were firmly taped, and Hiddleston cursed and slapped her thigh hard and seized her knees to pull them apart. “Whore,” he said, “open your legs, you filthy child,” and he buried his face in the crux of her thighs.
She screamed, and Hardy jerked as if he’d forgotten she had a voice, and then she whimpered as she felt him breathing her in, not moving, just breathing. After a moment he groaned, delighted, his fingers digging into the flesh above her knees. She squirmed to get away, and he bit her. Hard. Hard enough to leave a mark, high enough on her thigh that the skin was thin and sensitive.
She screamed again, but before she could even breathe in to scream once more Hardy had tackled Hiddleston and was absolutely beating the shit out of him, landing blows on his torso and one on his face, splitting his lip-- which she would have to conceal tomorrow, damn them-- and absolutely wrecking the trailer as they rolled back and forth, punching and kicking and clawing.
“TOM,” she yelled, terrified for her life, and they both looked up, pausing in their fight.
“Get me out of this chair,” she added, before they could pick it back up again. “If you’re going to kill each other, I’m leaving.”
To their credit, they managed to rein in their hostility long enough to work together at un-taping her, though Hiddleston ran his hands up her calves as he unbound them and Hardy aimed a kick at him for it, then (with no finesse at all) roughly grabbed her breast and worked it in his hand. She could feel his defiant glare without even having to see, and she wriggled to distract them, even though it meant giving up Hardy’s massive hands on her and Hiddleston’s covert caresses.
Soon she was completely unbound, and shaking slightly, looking around for what remained of her clothing. Her underwear were, unfortunately, a ruin; her bra was still halfway on, undone in the back and falling off her shoulders from Hardy’s enthusiastic attention. Her dress, it seemed, was crumpled up on the bed, behind the wall of angry muscle that was Hardy, and she would have to get past him to reach it.
But an impulse came over her, a flare of spite at Hiddleston and regret that she’d not had a chance to taste his true ire, and instead of leaping for her dress she leaned up against Hardy and kissed him, hard.
He was shocked for a second, paralyzed, and then his hands came up (huge but so delicate, so careful) and held her around the waist; his lips, soft and silky and behind that full of teeth, moved over the contours of her mouth and suckled at her lower lip, and she kissed him for at least a few delirious seconds before Hiddleston took her by the hips and forced her ass back against him with a possessive snarl.
And, okay, this was going to balloon out of control, but for all Hiddleston’s talk of quick fucks in the dark, Hardy was one hell of a kisser, and she wasn’t done kissing him yet, even if Hiddleston’s hands were bruising her and he seemed determined to pull her away. She wasn’t going anywhere--
This was the moment, of course, when Hiddleston understood, and instead of trying to pull her out of Hardy’s grasp he slipped one hand around and began touching her, carefully, avoiding the precise spot she wanted him to touch but leaving trails of sensation in places that really needed attention. She groaned into Hardy’s mouth and squirmed, trying to force Hiddleston to play his hand, but instead he teased her until she was half insane (which didn’t take long) and then, when she pulled away from Hardy to gasp, dragged her back bodily into his arms.
There was more teasing, and she made some embarrassing sounds, and Hardy took all of four seconds to shuck off his shirt and his jeans until he was standing in front of her naked, and then he pounced again.
The force of his assault slammed Hiddleston back against the bed, sitting him down with her pulled into his lap and Hardy on top of them both, and of course Hiddleston hit him in the side. They rolled over, nearly crushing her between them, and she saw to her left Hardy’s fist drawing back and swinging forward. She felt the impact throughout Hiddleston’s body, felt him recoil, saw him reach up and push Hardy’s forehead back until he was bowed backwards and howling, and each movement they made ground her between their bodies; Hiddleston, especially, seemed determined to keep her moving back and forth across Hardy’s thigh. When she cried out, she felt Hiddleston’s smirk curling against her neck and heard Hardy recover his posture and grunt, oh yeah you like that don’t you, and of course Hiddleston took exception to that since it was his victory and how dare Hardy intrude?
She learned quickly that Hiddleston was all finesse and art, maddening her by controlling her movements, seizing moments from his ongoing fight with Hardy to bite her when she cried out, to pull her thighs up and spread her wide open and defenseless, to rise up occasionally and spank her hard enough to jolt her out of her terror and bliss and leave her groaning.
Hardy, though, might have been held back by manners before, but now that his guard was down he was like an animal, all gripping hands and powerful chest and rutting cock leaving wet trails on her belly. When she pulled away from him to lean back and kiss Hiddleston, he growled at her and pulled her away by the hair at the nape of her neck, dragging her mouth helplessly back to his while Hiddleston went back to nipping at her throat.
They were fighting; they were fucking, they were fucking her and they quite possibly wanted to kill each other over the fact.
Finally Hardy snaked an arm between her and Hiddleston and, with a twist, flung his assailant on the floor, bouncing Hiddleston against half the furniture in the tiny room until he landed with one hand gripping the seat of the chair (still festooned with tape) and hauled himself upright, panting, eyes black with rage. He wiped his mouth gingerly-- there was blood-- and, while she watched him fearfully with her head twisted over her shoulder, he finished unzipping his pants and kicked them off, never taking his eyes from her. He was going to kill her. He was also going to kill Hardy, who was doing something underneath her that she failed to recognize until he lifted her with one hand clasped around her buttock and set his cock at her entrance.
“Oh god,” she said fervently, and there was nothing to do but take it, so take it she did. She couldn’t bounce, exactly; his hands gripped her waist and kept her from struggling away or gaining too much altitude from his thrusts, and the thing was fucking massive. She scarcely heard Hiddleston’s ragged breathing as he watched, but after a few moments she felt his fingers on her, his hand reaching around to grasp her by the chin and twist her head toward him. It put her at a difficult angle, with Hardy still pounding her and calling her name, trying to get her attention even though with Hiddleston’s fingers slipping into her mouth she couldn’t have turned to look at him even if she weren’t thoroughly preoccupied with Hiddleston’s lips catching hers, fingers and all. Or Hiddleston’s teeth, god the man loved to bite.
“Turn around,” demanded Hiddleston, and when Hardy failed to release his grip on her waist he fixed him with a cold command: let go, Tom, and by god Hardy let go exactly as he said. The thought shivered her: Hardy might fight, but Hiddleston was in charge here.
Hardy even paused in his thrusting long enough for her to twist around, and took the opportunity to struggle up onto his elbows for a better view; over her shoulder she saw the look of dark focus on his face, the flush rising from his chest, and when she felt Hiddleston’s fingers in her hair (pulling her forward, forcing her face down) she went quietly, knowing that Hardy wouldn’t stop this.
If anything, Hardy seemed to love it, rocking up into her with a slow but intense pressure so as not to jar her unmercifully while Hiddleston choked her with his cock, pulled back, let her breathe, and buried himself in her mouth again. Sputtering, she shook her head violently, and Hiddleston took the hint and let her swallow him at her own pace and depth. She supposed the initial viciousness had been punishment, Hiddleston’s chosen price for the pleasure she was taking from Hardy’s rhythm, but (if she flattered herself, so be it) she was quite good at this, and she wanted to do it right.
Hiddleston seemed to agree, burying one hand in her hair and holding himself steady with his legs braced apart so that he didn’t thrust into her throat. Unfortunately, that left Hardy the only one with any sort of attention to spare for words, and naturally he said something about second best that earned a sharp curse from Hiddleston.
“You can’t imagine,” continued Hardy, “she’s so fucking tight, she’s so into this. You hear those noises she’s making? She’s making those noises because of my dick, asshole, she’s fucking eating this up even with your cock in her windpipe--”
Hiddleston was the tackler this time, withdrawing from her mouth and tossing her over backward before she even realized what was happening. Hardy’s cock slipped out of her with an audible wet sound, and Hiddleston simply climbed on top of her-- on top of both of them-- and replaced Hardy’s cock with his own, riding her into Hardy’s chest and belly while Hardy bucked and complained and groaned underneath, a broken chain of please and come on and you asshole, you bastard.
Meanwhile, she was giving Hiddleston his effort’s worth in various noises. He wasn’t quite as massive as Hardy, but he knew exactly what he was doing, and it was toe-curlingly good. Hardy had her by the waist, steadying her for Hiddleston’s onslaught and rutting up against her so that his cock rode between her buttocks, still wet from being inside her.
Hiddleston was certainly a master of self-control, and he was nowhere near orgasm when Hardy roared with frustration and dragged her back up toward him, leaving her bereft of the very good things that Hiddleston had been doing, and (with a few clumsy, aggressive motions) filled her back up and tore into her with almost no restraint.
And, all right, she might be giving Hiddleston credit for his stamina, but Hardy plowed her with utter abandon for what felt like ages, vocally enjoying every second of it while Hiddleston kissed and bit her and touched and flicked her, his fingertips bouncing occasionally off the skin of Hardy’s driving cock as he chased her to the edge. Soon she was gasping, trying to warn him, but unable to get enough air to make words; he grinned at her, cruel and spiteful, and said in her ear (just loud enough for Hardy to hear): “Go ahead, Mona, you can’t stop yourself, I know. Come for me, come because I told you to, do it now,” and if she could have held back just to spite him she would have, but his clever fingers knew their work and even while Hardy spat insults at Hiddleston he could not hold himself back, and between the two of them she came until she was wracked with convulsions and sobbing for breath. And still Hardy kept on, until she finally collapsed back onto his body, nearly weeping.
“You don’t have to look so goddamn smug,” said Hardy, once he had forced himself to still (though he twitched upward occasionally, still unsatisfied but perfectly willing, as always, to wait). “You aren’t the only fucker in the world who can find a woman’s clit. And my dick was doing half the work for you.”
“Really,” said Hiddleston, raking his hair back with his fingernails and looking extremely disgruntled at the loss of momentum. “Switch?”
Hardy groaned whole-heartedly, but he withdrew-- again-- and cradled her on his chest, cupping her mons with his right hand and flicking at her nipple with his left while Hiddleston knelt over them both and set, once again, to fucking her.
It was just as good as before, even though she was incredibly sensitive now; Hiddleston knew how to be gentle, knew how to use that gentleness to deceive her into relaxing before pushing her suddenly. The careful pace left her enough awareness to notice small things: the thin mattress creaking as Hiddleston’s knees and Hardy’s hips dug into it, the crinkle of Hardy’s leg hair against her thighs as he kept her spread open, and the fierce delight in Hiddleston’s eyes, not caring whether he won this fight as long as it was his fight.
But before long, the pace wasn’t enough for either of them-- especially since Hardy wasn’t holding back, rutting against her ass and rubbing her with inexhaustible energy-- and Hiddleston’s hips began to snap, the base of his belly slamming into Hardy’s knuckles and making him curse. She didn’t particularly care. There was no time for her to readjust or angle her hips; she was already on the edge, and when she saw Hiddleston’s brows draw up and his eyes narrow as if in pain, felt the beginning flutters of his coming inside her, she lost whatever grip she had on self-control and came right along with him.
A few seconds passed; in her gasping aftershocks she felt Hiddleston slipping out of her, and felt him panting as he reeled away. Before she could even clutch at him, Hardy lifted her bodily, using her pubic arch as a crude gripping point, and plunged himself unreservedly into her.
She was very wet, with the aftermath of two orgasms and Hiddleston’s come inside her; almost too wet, if Hardy had been smaller. Instead, he stretched her, and she had almost enough time to begin to feel uncomfortable-- her oversensitized body demanding rest-- when he tensed up and drew his entire body up in a bow, cursing as he filled her too.
“Disgusting,” said Hiddleston, who had sat back in the chair with his heels crossed on the edge of the bed, glistening with sweat and looking unutterably smug. “Or do sloppy seconds not bother you?”
“I don’t give a fuck,” growled Hardy, once he had fallen back on the bed with his arms flung out and had a moment to gather his breath. “I really don’t give a fuck.”
Mona slipped off him with a slight wince, and winced again as various fluids pooled on Hardy’s abdomen. “Is there a towel,” she said, and then shrieked as Hardy flopped over on his side to wrap her in his enormous arms and pull her down into an incredibly sticky, wet, awkward cuddling position, laughing in his throat as she squirmed and complained.
“Disgusting,” said Hiddleston again, and threw a towel at them. “I do have to sleep there.”
“Do you now,” said Hardy, face buried in Mona’s neck. “I wouldn’t, if I were you. For one thing, nobody’s moving me for another hour, and I swear to god if you touch me I’ll murder you,” this as Hiddleston stood and stretched with his knee brushing Mona’s shin and threatening to displace Hardy’s leg, wrapped around her.
“You already tried that,” shot back Hiddleston, perching his ass on the side of the bed and toying, almost fondly, with Mona’s hair. “I don’t see that it’s solved anything. She still hasn’t chosen, have you, dear?”
“Do I have to choose?” She looked up at Hiddleston, amazed at the way his venom had smoothed into his normal, affable, kind-hearted expression. “You could scare me wet, and Hardy could cuddle me afterward.”
Hiddleston laughed at that, tilting his head back and letting his voice ring out clear and delighted. “I suppose you can’t be expected to choose right now,” he said, nodding meaningfully at Hardy (nearly unconscious and almost smothering her with his skin). “But eventually, Mona, you will have to choose.”
There was a moment of clear threat, an invitation that she knew she would never dare to refuse; then Hiddleston stood, smiled a true gentleman’s smile at her, and went to take a shower, leaving her buried in Hardy’s arms.