[RPF] Wishing We Weren't Here
Summary: The aftermath of a vacation gone awry.
Rating: PG barring the use of implications
Word Count: 871
A/N: I have the strangest headcanon for this. Slightly related to another story of mine over on AO3.
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“What the hell was that all about?!” huffs Tom as he nearly collapses on the shores of the sandy beach. He clenches his hands in the smooth white mounds and cherishes the grainy texture sliding between his fingers. With another exhale of relief, he lowers his head to the ground as if he were about to bury his own head in the sand.
The sounds of Chris’ harsh pants greet his ears, and Tom turns his head to look at the younger man who is bent over with broad hands planted against muscular thighs. His golden head peaks up, and Chris says with heaving gasps, “Damned if…I know…” He lifts an arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Something about…appeasing…the old…gods?”
Tom groans at this answer and falls bodily into the sand. “There’s some sort of irony in that, but I’m too arsed to figure it out,” he mumbles into the ground despite the particles of sand clumping together at the moisture provided by his mouth.
The warm rays beating down on his exposed back and the sound of the nearby waves crashing against each other nearly convince him that he is on the idyllic vacation he was supposed to be enjoying. Then his hand brushes against his body and the feel of the thick vines still around his arms remind him that that is not so.
The all encompassing burn of the sun is not at all like the musty warmth of whatever cavern he had been forced towards just moments ago. The soles of his feet still tingle in remembrance of digging against the ground in resistance and the subsequent dash through the jungle as he and Chris escaped.
Tom groans into the sand in an effort to wipe his mind. He really wouldn’t mind just continuing to lie on the beach until the tide dragged him into the ocean’s depths.
A tugging at his arms has him whipping his head just to see Chris has scooted over to his side. The other man chews on his bottom lip and works to remove the remaining vines from Tom’s limbs. Sunlight dances across the crown of his head, and Tom marvels at the flowers that remain braided in the younger man’s hair. Symbols of seeming hospitality now turned hostile.
His arm stretches up to grab at the flower. Chris initially leans back with brows scrunched together in confusion, but Tom’s hand waves limply at him. “There’s something in your hair.”
Chris’ broad hands immediately pat his head to find the foreign element. Tom lifts up into a kneeling position and swats at those hands to pick out the vibrantly orange flowers. Chris’ bright blue eyes follow his fingers as they flick the flora away from the both of them.
When done, Tom softly smoothes Chris’ hair back and tucks some errant strands behind his ear, allowing his hand to softly trail down the ends of his hair and into his own lap.
Chris’ hands take up their abandoned task of removing the thick, sticky vines wrapped around Tom’s arms. Tom could remove them himself, but he allows Chris this moment. The Aussie grips the twisted plant in his hands and flings them as far into the nearby jungle as he can. Then his hands drop down and find Tom’s. As their fingers entwine and eyes make contact, the younger man finally releases a long, heavy sigh.
“That’s the last time you get to choose the vacation spot,” says Chris as he attempts to suppress the smallest of smiles.
Tom nearly withdraws his hands and instead settles for cocking his head slightly. “Excuse me? May I remind you what happened on our last vacation?”
Chris does withdraw his hands this time to hold them up in an apologetic manner. “Hey! In my defense, at least that place was on a map.” He shrugs his shoulders. “And I get it now. Tropical islands just aren’t our thing. Especially, uncharted ones.”
Tom rakes a hand through the tufts of his hair and softly sighs in turn. “Bloody, local tour guide,” he mutters. “We really should’ve just stayed at the resort.”
“And miss out on nearly being sacrificed! Naaaah,” replies Chris sarcastically.
“Oh, just shut it, Hemsworth,” counters Tom with a roll of his eyes. He then leans his head into Chris’ solid shoulder and just sags into the other man. A hand wraps around him and-either absentmindedly or consciously it doesn’t really matter as it feels great either way-begins rubbing circles into his back. The feel of those rough fingers kneading and digging into his flesh practically has him melting into the other man.
Tom starts to think that maybe they can salvage some of this vacation. After they’ve found the boat and were halfway back to the mainland of course.
Then Chris opens his mouth.
“How the hell did they think you were a virgin though? The getup they had you in gave a perfect view of your ass which I thought would’ve clued them in.”
Tom’s hand delivers a swift slap to the back of Chris’ head.
“Hey!” says Chris indignantly. Tellingly though, he continues to rub away at Tom’s tense backside.
Now they can reclaim their vacation.
Rating: PG barring the use of implications
Word Count: 871
A/N: I have the strangest headcanon for this. Slightly related to another story of mine over on AO3.
-----
“What the hell was that all about?!” huffs Tom as he nearly collapses on the shores of the sandy beach. He clenches his hands in the smooth white mounds and cherishes the grainy texture sliding between his fingers. With another exhale of relief, he lowers his head to the ground as if he were about to bury his own head in the sand.
The sounds of Chris’ harsh pants greet his ears, and Tom turns his head to look at the younger man who is bent over with broad hands planted against muscular thighs. His golden head peaks up, and Chris says with heaving gasps, “Damned if…I know…” He lifts an arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Something about…appeasing…the old…gods?”
Tom groans at this answer and falls bodily into the sand. “There’s some sort of irony in that, but I’m too arsed to figure it out,” he mumbles into the ground despite the particles of sand clumping together at the moisture provided by his mouth.
The warm rays beating down on his exposed back and the sound of the nearby waves crashing against each other nearly convince him that he is on the idyllic vacation he was supposed to be enjoying. Then his hand brushes against his body and the feel of the thick vines still around his arms remind him that that is not so.
The all encompassing burn of the sun is not at all like the musty warmth of whatever cavern he had been forced towards just moments ago. The soles of his feet still tingle in remembrance of digging against the ground in resistance and the subsequent dash through the jungle as he and Chris escaped.
Tom groans into the sand in an effort to wipe his mind. He really wouldn’t mind just continuing to lie on the beach until the tide dragged him into the ocean’s depths.
A tugging at his arms has him whipping his head just to see Chris has scooted over to his side. The other man chews on his bottom lip and works to remove the remaining vines from Tom’s limbs. Sunlight dances across the crown of his head, and Tom marvels at the flowers that remain braided in the younger man’s hair. Symbols of seeming hospitality now turned hostile.
His arm stretches up to grab at the flower. Chris initially leans back with brows scrunched together in confusion, but Tom’s hand waves limply at him. “There’s something in your hair.”
Chris’ broad hands immediately pat his head to find the foreign element. Tom lifts up into a kneeling position and swats at those hands to pick out the vibrantly orange flowers. Chris’ bright blue eyes follow his fingers as they flick the flora away from the both of them.
When done, Tom softly smoothes Chris’ hair back and tucks some errant strands behind his ear, allowing his hand to softly trail down the ends of his hair and into his own lap.
Chris’ hands take up their abandoned task of removing the thick, sticky vines wrapped around Tom’s arms. Tom could remove them himself, but he allows Chris this moment. The Aussie grips the twisted plant in his hands and flings them as far into the nearby jungle as he can. Then his hands drop down and find Tom’s. As their fingers entwine and eyes make contact, the younger man finally releases a long, heavy sigh.
“That’s the last time you get to choose the vacation spot,” says Chris as he attempts to suppress the smallest of smiles.
Tom nearly withdraws his hands and instead settles for cocking his head slightly. “Excuse me? May I remind you what happened on our last vacation?”
Chris does withdraw his hands this time to hold them up in an apologetic manner. “Hey! In my defense, at least that place was on a map.” He shrugs his shoulders. “And I get it now. Tropical islands just aren’t our thing. Especially, uncharted ones.”
Tom rakes a hand through the tufts of his hair and softly sighs in turn. “Bloody, local tour guide,” he mutters. “We really should’ve just stayed at the resort.”
“And miss out on nearly being sacrificed! Naaaah,” replies Chris sarcastically.
“Oh, just shut it, Hemsworth,” counters Tom with a roll of his eyes. He then leans his head into Chris’ solid shoulder and just sags into the other man. A hand wraps around him and-either absentmindedly or consciously it doesn’t really matter as it feels great either way-begins rubbing circles into his back. The feel of those rough fingers kneading and digging into his flesh practically has him melting into the other man.
Tom starts to think that maybe they can salvage some of this vacation. After they’ve found the boat and were halfway back to the mainland of course.
Then Chris opens his mouth.
“How the hell did they think you were a virgin though? The getup they had you in gave a perfect view of your ass which I thought would’ve clued them in.”
Tom’s hand delivers a swift slap to the back of Chris’ head.
“Hey!” says Chris indignantly. Tellingly though, he continues to rub away at Tom’s tense backside.
Now they can reclaim their vacation.