And This is my Friend, Sammy the Salmon [Tom Hardy]
Title: And This is my Friend, Sammy the Salmon
Author:casiedearestfic
Pairing: Characters: Tom Hardy
Rating: G
Warnings: Unbeta'd
Words: 500
Summary: His Grandmother was the only one to ever know about Tom's insecurity in situations like this.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the boys. All characters belong to respective copyrights.
Notes: I wrote some fucking RPF Gen fic, you guise. No really, I did. Some lovely anon wanted to know why Tom is petting his own leg in this interview with Cillian. Title from The Salmon Dance by The Chemical Brothers. Tom Hardy, you are one strange cat.
Tom felt the tension rise as the questions continued, none of which were exceptionally hard, just... questioning, nonetheless. Tom was a people-person, always a crowd pleaser. He was confident enough to know that he was someone lovable and characteristic, and he was was damn pleased with the performance he'd given in Inception. But, even so, interviews had always been a weak point.
They felt sort of like interrogations to him, regardless of how playful or innocent the questions may seem. He knew that his words would be typed up on web blogs, and printed in magazines, time and time again, until his original phrasing was scrambled and lost, and before he knew it, his mother was calling him in tears, asking why he'd said such terrible things, things he'd never, in fact, said.
Cillian was beside him, unphased and casual. He looked perfect and collected, with all his answers coming out flawlessly, worded so perfectly, that Tom knew there was no way he could be misquoted, even if someone tried. He was a lot like Leo in that way, so inhumanly cocksure, confident to the point of unbelievability. And that was one skill Tom had never had, and until now, he hadn't even known how badly he'd wanted it.
His Grandmother was the only one to ever know about Tom's insecurity in situations like this. He'd admitted a fear of public speaking to her when he was seven, and about to give his first ever speech. Given, it was just a speech about salmon spawning, to be delivered to a room full of thirty other first graders, but it had been a big deal back then. And, in all honesty, Tom had a feeling it still would be, even now.
He'd sat with her on her couch back then, all those years ago, before any of his acting classes had instilled in him any sort of security when it came to public relations. Back then, all he had was her, rubbing her soft hands over his knees as she told him that he was the wisest young man she knew, that he'd worked long and hard on that speech, and anyone who heard it would know it. She always did that, letting him pick through her cookie jar, as her tissue-soft fingers smoothed away his insecurities.
Cillian shifted beside him suddenly, bringing his attention back to the present. He looked over at his co-star for a fleeting moment, silently cataloguing the familiar signs of stress; the flushing skin, the restless hands, the way he was chewing lightly on the inside of his lip. Tom smiled softly for a moment, deciding that once they were done, he'd take Cillian out for cookies.
-End-
Author:casiedearestfic
Pairing: Characters: Tom Hardy
Rating: G
Warnings: Unbeta'd
Words: 500
Summary: His Grandmother was the only one to ever know about Tom's insecurity in situations like this.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the boys. All characters belong to respective copyrights.
Notes: I wrote some fucking RPF Gen fic, you guise. No really, I did. Some lovely anon wanted to know why Tom is petting his own leg in this interview with Cillian. Title from The Salmon Dance by The Chemical Brothers. Tom Hardy, you are one strange cat.
Tom felt the tension rise as the questions continued, none of which were exceptionally hard, just... questioning, nonetheless. Tom was a people-person, always a crowd pleaser. He was confident enough to know that he was someone lovable and characteristic, and he was was damn pleased with the performance he'd given in Inception. But, even so, interviews had always been a weak point.
They felt sort of like interrogations to him, regardless of how playful or innocent the questions may seem. He knew that his words would be typed up on web blogs, and printed in magazines, time and time again, until his original phrasing was scrambled and lost, and before he knew it, his mother was calling him in tears, asking why he'd said such terrible things, things he'd never, in fact, said.
Cillian was beside him, unphased and casual. He looked perfect and collected, with all his answers coming out flawlessly, worded so perfectly, that Tom knew there was no way he could be misquoted, even if someone tried. He was a lot like Leo in that way, so inhumanly cocksure, confident to the point of unbelievability. And that was one skill Tom had never had, and until now, he hadn't even known how badly he'd wanted it.
His Grandmother was the only one to ever know about Tom's insecurity in situations like this. He'd admitted a fear of public speaking to her when he was seven, and about to give his first ever speech. Given, it was just a speech about salmon spawning, to be delivered to a room full of thirty other first graders, but it had been a big deal back then. And, in all honesty, Tom had a feeling it still would be, even now.
He'd sat with her on her couch back then, all those years ago, before any of his acting classes had instilled in him any sort of security when it came to public relations. Back then, all he had was her, rubbing her soft hands over his knees as she told him that he was the wisest young man she knew, that he'd worked long and hard on that speech, and anyone who heard it would know it. She always did that, letting him pick through her cookie jar, as her tissue-soft fingers smoothed away his insecurities.
Cillian shifted beside him suddenly, bringing his attention back to the present. He looked over at his co-star for a fleeting moment, silently cataloguing the familiar signs of stress; the flushing skin, the restless hands, the way he was chewing lightly on the inside of his lip. Tom smiled softly for a moment, deciding that once they were done, he'd take Cillian out for cookies.
-End-