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skinnylittleredwrites · 10 years

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The Dalai Llama.

TITLE: The Dalai Llama. (oneshot)

AUTHOR: skinnylittlered

WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor!Tom

GENRE: Established relationship/Humour

FIC SUMMARY: Emergency trip to South America

RATING: T (language)

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While I do appreciate the eventual outcome of the intense workout my arms have been subjected to for the past couple of hours, wildly flailing in a very desperate and just as fruitless attempt to fight the (numerous, tiny, and winged) forces of nature, I cannot help but sod at my soundly hibernating boyfriend who seems not to mind the myriad of mosquitos ambushing us. Mostly I, on a double take, for he appears not to be disturbed in the slightest, even by the incessant buzzing of wings, if not the actual biting. Instead, he turns on his other side, scratching his now upper buttock as he vociferously snores, causing the nearby llamas to stir and screech.

~*~

She stretched awake, tightly squeezing her eyelids together amidst a particularly unladylike yawn. Prepared for a day dedicated entirely to basking in the warm May light and the calming fragrance springing from the magnolia trees in the garden, wide grin plastered onto her face, she reached her hand to his side, with the purpose of initiating a prolonged morning romp with the man that was very much not there.

Maybe he’s brushing his teeth, an idle thought flickered through her head, but was discarded soon enough, when she realised the en suite bathroom was perfectly silent and presumably empty. Having breakfast, perhaps? curious of his whereabouts, she hopped off the bed, ruffling out her locks to give more volume to the raven bob cut that complemented her azure irises so well as she went for the kitchen. Graceless cook that he was, breakfast, too, deemed itself to be a highly unlikely probability considering the lack of noise and/or smoke coming out of the room. Rather than thinking up other scenarios, she decided just calling out for him while she put some bread in the toaster and filled the coffee machine.

Seeing as no response was allotted, she just noncommittally shrugged, feeling her skin prickle as she took the butter and jam out of the fridge, shushing her grumbling stomach. Before long, she was leaning on the edge of one of the high barstools, alternatively sipping the steaming beverage and biting into the crackling slice. It was then that the door abruptly opened and just as swiftly shut with an audibly painful crash and the hurried steps headed up the stairs.

“I’m here,” she gave out her location with a yell, munching around the buttery sweet crumbs as she flicked through the pages of an old number of Vogue that she’d just noticed discarded on the granite counter. After the clamorous entrance, she was only half expecting him to come smiling and bury his nose in her hair, wishing her a good morning, like he usually did when he deserted their bedding before her awakening, and her hunch was proved right when he barged into the room exclaiming an ‘oh, thank goodness you’re up’, grasping her shoulders and straightening her up.

She angled her head to look into his much higher eyes, but not after taking in his unusual manner of dress, excellent for camping, yes, but quite unfit for the comforts of his centre-of-London situated residence. It was, however, the fervour of his speech that unsettled her, rather that his questionable fashion choices.

“We need to go,” his stare bore into hers, making her awkwardly shift in the tight grip on her shoulders. The scarce coverage of her skin – lacy panties – only made the intensity of his stare all the more flustering.

Still, even in this more than upsetting state, she couldn’t help but dumbly ask, “We do?”

“Yes, we do, and fast!”

“Okay, okay,” she conceded, the large palms ceasing the alert pushing halfway up the staircase. “But where are we going and why?”

“There’s no time to explain now, just put on some clothes and get in the car, the jet is waiting for us at the airport.”

Rushed by an increasingly anxious boyfriend, she haphazardly put on whatever fell into her hands foremost and was tucked into the car then into the plane in a matter of minutes.

“Now,” she cleared her throat one the take-off turbulence had come to an end, “tell me what’s going on.”

The expression of his face was dead serious and his rigid posture had not once faltered since the onset of the entire ordeal, fact that was greatly perturbing her inner already not-so-much calm at that point, for he was normally such a chill dude with an equally chilled outlook on things.

“It’s the llamas.”

To be completely frank, disposing of whatever pride she took in her intellect, it took her a solid minute to ascertain whether or not she’d heard him correctly, let alone try and compute the input received with such solemnity that could have not been ensued by anything but a gravely actual situation. Well, either that or the man was really in for an Academy Award.

“The…llamas?” she repeated, seriously worrying for the sudden drop in her cognitive activity.

“Yes, indeed, sweet girl. Llamas,” he rigidly nodded, saying the words at half speed, as to grant her extensive time for comprehension.

Entirely gobsmacked and unsure of her ability to string letters in any of the ways known to mankind, mouth agape to the point of unhinging, she sat in front of him, voiceless. In retaliation, he rolled his eyes at her shortfall of understanding the simplest of concepts and begun, slightly irked but patient over all, because – stupid or not – she was his girlfriend and he loved her and shit.

“We’re going to my ranch in the Falkland Islands. There’s been an emergency involving one of my llamas and a coyote.”

Momentarily forgetting about the utter ridiculousness of the moment the young woman, filled with sympathy for the poor animal let out a heartfelt ‘aww, poor baby’, only to be met with no empathy from its apparent owner, but a frown followed by realisation and a chuckle.

“Oh, but Ocean is okay, it’s the coyote that I’m concerned about.”

“You have a llama named Ocean?”

“Yes.”

“…are there any more?”

“Six. I’ll introduce you when we get there.”

~*~

“Tom,” I shake the unabashedly placid sleeper, cursing yet again at the nerve of him, to drag me to the damn South America then doze off as the life is being literally sucked out of me. “Wake the fuck up, Tom. Let’s go inside.”

He groans lowly but opens his eyelids nevertheless, a smile instantaneously softening the sharp lines of tiredness in the corners of his eyes, nearly turning me into goo with its sheer adorableness. “Hi,” his arm makes way around my neck and pulls me on top of him. I fall, eliciting huffs from the both of us, and bury my face in the nook of his clavicle, rubbing my nose against his skin.

“Hi, baby,” my voice comes out muffled but still intelligible, with the only sound in a few miles radius being the crackling of fire. “Inside, please? I’ve got mosquito bites all over and they’re really itchy,” I whine, straddling him and scratching my cheek for emphasis.

“How did you even get those? There’s no sign of mosquitos as far as my sight goes.”

And it’s true. Now that I get to look around, it seems like all the insects have dissipated in the thin air, the only proof of their indubitable existence being the mares on my skin. But weird occurrences seem to find a way of finding the handsome man underneath me, no difficulty what so ever, and in the short (and overly eventful) year we have spent together one thing that I have grown accustomed to is brushing aside the inexplicable in lieu of beating my brains trying to come up with valid theories.

“Okay, then, camper,” he sits with me still attached to his torso, strengthening his back. “You go in; I’m going to take a leak.”

He dismissively pecks my forehead, nudging me off, and we part ways, me to the house, him to the bushes under the bedroom window to relieve himself.

It’s a really old fashioned cottage that he owns, complete with fireplaces and a library, in cramped Victorian style and, although to many – him included! – it may seem cosy, warm and everything homey, I am very much unable to see myself ever returning to this place. I am, after all, a veritable urbanely bred specimen with little to no tolerance for any other environments but the artificial ones.

~*~

Wait. Magnolia trees in the garden?!

Recollecting the happenings of the previous day and the brusque removal from their abode to a place destitute of any vegetation but the uncultivated one she jumps out of bed, to the wood framed window of the bedroom, gaping at the shrub so gigantic it thwarted her vision of the outside scenery.

“Good morning, baby.”

Ogling flabbergasted, she didn’t even take notice of the tan arms lovingly wrapping about her waist. Not until he tugged her to him, mumbling in her neck, that is.

“I take it that you like the flowers, then? I was, indeed, very pleasantly surprised to see them this morning, too! Quite fast things grow around here, don’t you think? I guess it’s the air…”

Not paying attention to his ramblings about how healthy the country side air is, she just brushed yet another peculiarity aside, because that generally is most favourable to inexorably damaging her mental faculties trying to come up with an explanation.

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And they shagged happily ever after.

This little piece was prompted by this and this and this, all authored by the incredible Hiddlesfacts who I am a huge fan of *runs circles around her, throwing confetti*

#het!humour #humour #Tom Hiddleston #hiddles #hiddlesfacts #hiddles fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfiction #crack #llama

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