purple skies.

He's clad in black, ideally accentuating the overhead light that bathes the stage in a mellow lustre. Tom Holland is always so wonderfully crisp on stage, right from his glossy shoes to the sparkling cufflinks on his wrist to the last perfectly styled curl atop his head. His movements are fluid and elegant; even him opening a closet door for you to step into. It amuses you to no end, because you've seen him backstage—he's the clumsiest klutz you've encountered.

It's all very endearing, and if you're being honest, you can't help but fall for his alluring self. Him looking so gorgeously handsome doesn't help your case at all.

But, he's your boss. Your relationship should be strictly professional—you have no role to play except for aiding him in his performances and carrying his stuff around. However, you've seen the way he looks at you; with that glint of want in his eyes. Just the way you look at him. You have an inkling—that this relationship, whatever you have with him—is bordering on something else.

And just thinking about it makes you feel heady.

The feeling comes back in full force when you slump next to him on an armchair in the green room. Your eyes are shut as you lean your head back. You can feel his gaze slip down from your face to your heaving chest, and you bite back a smirk when he averts his eyes as you open yours. You're backstage, tired and panting after a particularly strenuous performance on stage.

"Bloody hell, this has to be the hottest day in English history." he puffs out a breath, hooking his fingers under his collar and tugging on it in an attempt to cool himself off.  

"Tell me about it." you nod along for emphasis, "And I had to be locked up in a closet, trying to escape the. entire. time."

He chuckles, "That's the job, love."

"Yeah, I know, I know…" you get up from the chair, walking across to the vanity mirror at the corner of the room. His eyes are fixated on your retreating figure, drinking in your curves through the skimpy outfit that you have to don.

"Oi!" you call him out playfully, catching his guilty eyes in the mirror. He opens his mouth to start to apologise, and he looks genuinely sorry—but his mouth clamps shut when he takes in your cheeky demeanour. He breaks out into a hearty chuckle instead, and you laugh along with him, reaching into the drawer to re-apply your lipstick.

The silence that reigns in the room prickles with anticipation—you thought it would dissipate with the laughter, but that only made it more tense.

You keep stealing glances at him, heart hammering in your chest when you catch his gaze only to look away in an instant.

Fuck it, you think after a while, settling on the fact that his intentions are the same as yours.

So you decide not to be so subtle anymore—you don't know where it's going to take you, but you've waited long enough.

You need him. Now.

Your free hand is placed on the vanity, the other one touching up your lipstick. You bend forward so your ass sticks out, arching your back like a feline.

The thrill of shivers that run down your spine when you hear his raspy groan has your eyes widening, because you've just realised how hot you feel all over, and the evident dampness that coats the inside of your panties.

He doesn't even try to hide his hungry gaze as he hastily pulls off his suit jacket. You feel everything and nothing all at once when he saunters over to plant his warm palms on your hips. One of his hands moves up your back, teasing the zipper on your costume before it rests on the side of your throat.

It's slow and calculated, all bated breaths and throbbing hearts.

He catches your eyes in the mirror, and the dark glint of mischief that you discern has you yearning to turn into putty in his arms.

Your brain's screaming at you at how inappropriate this is, and that you should stop, but fuck, his lips are millimetres away from your neck and his heady rich cologne muddles all coherent thoughts. Your body seems to have a mind of its own, and you lean back into his welcoming embrace just as his teeth sink into your throat.

"Mhm," your bottom lip is firmly held firmly under the row of your top teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the warm lave of his tongue on your skin. His little nips and bites travel all the way from your collarbones, stopping right at the corner of your mouth before he finally opens his eyes and stares at your mouth, his own slightly agape.

It's clear what you both want now, all doubts thrown into the wind as you yearn for each other like never before.

It's magical.

He hooks his thumbnail into your chin, tugging on it so that your jaw drops open.

A satisfied hum rumbles up his chest—you can feel it because you're pressed up so close to him.

He rubs his thumb over the outline of your cherry-red lips, smearing the sticky substance all over your mouth.

"Mm, this gets me thinking," he murmurs, pressing the pad of his lipstick-smeared finger on your tongue, "jus' wanna stuff this mouth full of my cum." You don't know if it's his filthy words or the bitter taste that you're salivating over, but your eyes roll back at the thought, moaning unabashedly.

"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" his thumb emerges from inside your mouth, a string of spit following it out which he cleans off on your chin. You're a fucking mess, half gone already and he hasn't even touched you. His other hand stays firm on your lower abdomen, teasing you, barely touching you where you're dripping for him.

He pries your mouth open wider, your jaw now aching with how wide you've opened it. He doesn't give you time to process any of his actions—he spits, letting a glob of spit drop from his mouth onto your tongue, harshly squeezing your breast at the same time. It lands on your tongue, warm and wet and so, so fucking yummy. You gulp it down without thinking, eyes screwed shut as it travels down your oesophagus.

“Tom—” your voice is hoarse from unuse, your hand reaching back to grope anything that comes into grip. You find his bed of curls, planting your fingers in them and tugging hard to show how eager you are.

He seizes your forearm and yanks it out of his hair, using his hold on your body to twist you around and push you down to your knees. You simply sit there, barely aware of the hard floor underneath your knees, watching him unbuckle his belt, pop the button and pull his trousers and boxers down all at once to reveal his cock, already hard and leaking.

"Yeah, baby, take a good look at it," he muses, lazily jerking himself, "'cause for my next trick, 'm gonna make it disappear down your bloody throat."

"Yeah, baby, give it to me," you retort, eyes still glued to his pretty pink tip, "I can't wait to—mph!"

He cuts you off by shoving the length of his cock into your welcoming mouth, moving in halfway before he waits for a moment, savouring the warm, wet hug around his shaft. It's heavy on your tongue, weighing down so that your jaw is stretched around it. The pre-cum that spurts out onto your taste buds is bitter, but you keep the wince at bay to not ruin the mood.

He pushes further in, a bit more harshly this time, and your head drives back to thud gently against the wall. You slack your jaw, eyelids fluttering up to look at his face and fuck, if it isn't the most beautiful sight you've laid your eyes on. There's a sheen of sweat that glitters over his face, and his eyebrows from a crease in the middle of his forehead that only shows how well you're taking him. He's looking down at you, mouth wide open in awe of how you just sit there, waiting for him to do whatever he wants with you.

And that's exactly what he does.

He presses his palm on your forehead, pushing you back so that you can't move your head from the spot. He grabs a fistful of your hair, using it as leverage as he starts to fuck your mouth.

It's deep and slow at first, testing the waters, seeing if you're okay with it. Which you definitely are, and the only way you can tell him this is by whining around his girth, feeling strings of saliva drip down onto your chest, ruining your black lacy costume.

"Mhm, shit. That mouth—that fuckin’—bloody fucking gorgeous mouth you got on ya, darlin'." He's stumbling over his words, barely able to slur them out as he feels you hollow your cheeks and suck with every thrust he delivers.

He builds up the pace, and by the time the tears are flowing down your cheeks in rivulets, he's fucking your throat ruthlessly. Your scalp aches with how hard he's gripping your hair, but it's all worth it seeing the look on his face. That blissed, absolutely fucked out face that he makes, that has your pussy clench so hard it hurts.

His hips snap back and forth, fucking you with almost inhuman strength, until he gasp-moans out at a particularly deep thrust, “’m close, love. Fuck, imma—” he pulls out of your mouth, his palm going to wrap around his cock to pump it furiously, using all the spit you slobbered over him as a lube. You can only sit there, hands on your knees, eyes watching every twitch of his dick as he brings himself to the edge.

"Oh, shit, fuck, you see that?" he's staring at his length, eyes wide and black with lust, "huh, slut?" your eyes drop to capture the same thing that his eyes do, whimpering low and meek in your throat when you spot it. It's on the middle of his cock, a red imprint of lipstick with how hard you'd been sucking on him.

"You really liked my cock, didn't you?" he's getting all cocky now, biting down hard on his lip as he teeters over the edge, "bet no one else fucked your mouth this good."

You hum and nod, opening your mouth wide because you see his cock twitch violently and his hips stutter, finally spurting strings of dirty white cum into your hungry mouth. You take it all, body trembling at the moans that erupt from his chest.

You gulp it down, every last drop, moaning at the taste while he catches his breath, panting heavily as he looks down at you.

"Who the fuck said you could swallow?" he growls, holding your jaw in his deathly grip. You feel like you've lost all words, so you merely whimper and shake your head no as an apology. He scoffs, turning away and taking off his tie to unbutton his shirt.

Hope fills your veins. "Will you fuck me now?"

He smirks back at you, and you don't have to hear the next words that he spits out for you to know the answer.

"Only good girls get to be fucked."