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"I nominate Benedict Cumberbatch and Luke Evans... you have 24 hours! Woo!"
I clicked my tongue disapprovingly behind the screen door as I watched Tom shake himself off, water spraying everywhere. The pitter-pattering of the rain outside further intensified the sticking of his very white T-shirt to his very wet - and taut - body. I couldn't help but admire as he shook himself once more before running inside. I stopped him at the door with a firm hand on the chest.
"Just one moment, Thomas. You are not coming in here dripping wet, and ruining the floor I just waxed! Dry off outside first, and then come in and go straight to the bath."
Tom grinned evilly, and in a split-second, crushed me to his icy cold body. I screamed, and his chuckle rumbled low in my ear, and throughout my entire body. I pushed him away from me, and began running up the stairs, but his legs were too damn long, and he caught up to me in a matter of seconds.
"Where do you think you're going, darling?" He asked in the most sinister voice I had ever heard come out of him. "I'm not finished with you yet."
I rolled over, face completely deadpan, and said in the calmest voice I could muster, "Thomas William Hiddleston. If you do not release me this second, you shall never see me naked ever again. And that is a solemn promise."
His hands immediately left my body, and I couldn't help the shiver that escaped as he pulled his body away from mine. I rubbed my hands frantically up and my soaked arms, glaring daggers at the sullen, 6-foot-2-inch man at the foot of the staircase.
"I'm sorry, dear. I was just farting around, truly, I didn't mean to upset you." His puppy eyes looked up at me, begging forgiveness.
Using every last ounce of my will to resist his charms, I threw a towel at his head, and said sternly, "Dry off outside, and then come upstairs. I'll be pleasantly surprised if you don't catch a cold. I can see the sniffles have started already."
Tom's mouth opened to protest, but then his nose crinkled up into the most scrunched-up face I had ever seen him make, and he proceeded to let out the most deafening sneeze anyone has ever heard. I smirked and ran upstairs to change out of my wet clothes, leaving him to towel off downstairs.
A few minutes later, a very naked Tom Hiddleston stood in the doorway of the bedroom, shivering and shuddering like a small child that had been left in the snow. I looked up from my book, and ushered him into the bathroom I had steamed up for him. His eyes closed in utter bliss as soon as the hot water hit him, and I left him alone to clean up.
I headed downstairs to grab a few things I knew he would need very soon. Dayquil, Nyquil, Kleenex, cough drops, a hot water bottle, and tea. Growing up as the oldest of five children, I knew the exact signs and symptoms when a dreadful cold was about to take over, and Tom was displaying all of those signs. He would come down with a bad one soon enough, and I knew I would need to look after him. I didn't wish the cold upon him, but it would be nice to have him to myself for a few days, even if it meant picking up snotty tissues and waking him up every few hours to take medicine. He was rarely ever home, and it would be a nice break for him. "Oh, shut up you, you're so selfish," I mumbled to myself as I poured boiling water into a mug.
"Darling?!" Tom shouted down the stairs. "Could you make me some tea? I've been standing under the hot water for fifteen minutes and I'm still freezing!"
I balanced everything on a tray, and walked slowly to the foot of the stairs. He was in nothing but a towel, wrapped loosely around his waist, and his lips were blue. He was still shivering violently, and I felt bad for the poor chap. "I have your tea right here, love. Get into bed, we need to warm you up."
Tom obeyed, and shuffled back into the bedroom. I placed the tray down on the bedside table, and hurried to get some extra blankets from the closet. When I returned to the bedroom, his eyes were shut, and he was wheezing softly. I leaned down and brushed his damp, curly hair away from his forehead, and noted that it was quite hot. "Oh no," I whispered. "Poor guy." I kissed his forehead gently, and his eyelashes fluttered. He opened his eyes, bright blue eyes gazing into mine.
"I don't feel well," he groaned, rolling over. "Now's your turn to tell me you told me so." He curled up into the fetal position, and I chuckled.
"I wouldn't do that, not when you're this miserable. Come on, sit up and drink your tea. It'll help, I promise." I handed him his mug, and he clasped it in his very large hands.
"Thank you, darling. You always take such good care of me." He smiled, and chugged the entire mug of Earl Grey. "Ahhh," he sighed, leaning back against the headboard. Cocking his head slightly to the left, he looked at me. "Why are you so good to me, even when I'm somewhat cruel to you?"
I gestured for him to scoot over, and sat next to him on the bed. "Because," I remarked, tucking another layer of fleece over him, "if I didn't, you would be sick or injured all the time, then you wouldn't be able to work in all these films that you're in, and your fandom would become so bored waiting around, they would leave you!"
Tom threw back his head and laughed heartily. The laugh, however, quickly turned into a racking cough, and he looked so miserable and forlorn that I couldn't help but feel terribly guilty about being so mean earlier. He must have noticed, because he looked at me with an indistinguishable expression.
"What? You're happy about this, aren't you?" He coughed again, and I rubbed small, quiet circles into his back.
"No, of course not!" I kissed him on the cheek, and he laid his head on my lap, sniffling.
"Yes, you are. I ruined the newly-waxed floor, and so you wished death upon me. 'If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, and hug it in mine arms'," he quoted.
I rolled my eyes. "Really, Hiddleston? Shakespeare, now? You really do have one for every circumstance, don't you?"
He rolled over on my lap (so he was looking up at me), and grinned cheekily. "Is that such a crime?"
I ran my fingers through his hair, and he turned into my touch. "No, it's not terrible, Tom. It just makes you so much more sophisticated than I am. I quote Mean Girls, you quote Shakespeare."
Tom chuckled again, and propped himself up on his elbows. "You are lovely, no matter what you quote. I only quote Shakespeare because it's what I know, and it's what I'm familiar with." Reaching up, he pulled me down to him, and whispered, "Is it alright if I kiss you? Or will I get you sick as well?"
I leaned in closer, and gently touched my lips to his. "You are such a gentleman. You know you need not ask."
He grinned devilishly, and pressed his delicious mouth to mine once more. I curled my fingers in his hair, and then laced them together behind his neck. I felt his lips part, and he groaned into my mouth, the sound rumbling low in his chest. I shuddered, and pulled back.
"Noooo, don't leave me," Tom whined, sliding his hands on either side of my face. "I'm cold." He stuck his lower lip out as far as it would go, and pouted like a three year-old.
I giggled, and kissed him again, quickly. "No, I would never leave you, love. I do need to use the restroom though. I'll be right back." I slid out of the huge, fluffy bed, and made Tom take some Nyquil before I headed to the bathroom. I looked back and smiled as Tom groaned, smushing his head in between two pillows.
When I returned, he was spread-eagled on the king bed, brow furrowed, breathing loudly. I climbed back into the bed, and he mumbled something unintelligible, rolling over and pulling me to him with long, lean arms, burying his head in the crook of my neck. I massaged his scalp lightly, playing with the multitude of little curls there, and he sighed dreamily.
"I love you," I whispered, cradling his head in my arms.
"I love you more," he breathed, eyes still closed, but lips curling into a beautiful smile. Sleep quickly overtook us both, and we stayed intertwined until the next morning.