Wet Start 4
Title: Wet Start
Chapter number/One Shot: Chapter 4
Author: Evieplease and Catwinchester
Which Tom Character: Actor!Tom
Genre: Humor/Erotica
Fic Summary: Tom needs a plumber. He gets one.
Authors notes/ warnings: NSFW
“I should call home so my dad doesn’t worry.”
“You live at home?” he asked.
“No, although he’s only about five minutes down the road and if he sees my van is missing, he’ll panic and send search dogs out after me… or large men with cudgels. He’s a little old fashioned about his ‘little girl’.” I made a face.
“Of course,” he blanched a little. “Did your phone survive the deluge?” he asked, a slightly worried look on his face.
“I haven’t checked, but it has a waterproof cover, so I expect so.”
“Well, you can pop into the living room to call if you want,” he pointed in the general direction. “In the meantime, is it too early for wine?”
I looked at the clock, which said it was gone 6pm.
“Nah, but I’d prefer a beer if you have it?”
“Coming right up,” he assured me
I went into the next room and called my dad to tell him I was staying out. I didn’t tell him I was staying with Tom because I knew he’d question me incessantly. Normally he would have had a fit about me staying with a client, but I knew he’d be over the moon about the posh address. Considering I was the only child who had carried on the family business, he sure seemed keen to marry me off! Though I’m not really sure he’s considered the fact that marriage probably means sex… Maybe it was an age thing, I was an unplanned late baby and he’s nearly 70 now, although you wouldn’t know it to look at him and he’s still as spry as me.
He asked about Tom’s job this afternoon and I walked to the windows as I explained what the issues were, and asked him to email the client the bill and an estimate to have the stopcock changed.
“How many hours?” he asked. How many billable hours *did* I work? I calculated in my head. We normally charge for drive time, and I guess I’d worked a little over an hour? I definitely went off the clock the moment I climbed into Tom’s bathtub!
“Charge him 2 hours, Dad.”
“Two hours? Are you telling me you got from Chalk Farm, across London rush hour in the snow in half an hour??” I could hear the scepticism in his voice. Shit! Next step is suspicion. And explanations…
“No! Look Dad, I have a friend from school lives in Camden Town and I’m staying with her overnight, or I’d still be on the road in this mess! I’m not charging the client for a several hour drive that I didn’t make!” God, I hate lying to Dad. But I’m not letting him charge Tom for my time when I’m wearing the man’s clothing and eating his food! Not to mention whatever else we might get up to tonight…
“Rocky, how the hell do you expect to run a business…” Oh, here we go. I tuned him out and let him rant for a minute or two.
“Dad!” I interrupted the flow, “Dad! Charge the two bloody hours!” I said firmly. He squawked indignantly.
“I’m charging him three, and that’s final! We need to be paid for the normal amount of travel, even if you’re too soft to charge for being called out in the snow!”
God, he’s like a terrier once he gets something in his teeth! I sighed. “Yes Dad, alright.” I know I’m not going to win this argument. “Fine.” I’ll just leave the extra hour’s charge behind when I go. Tom will get a refund on the extra hour before he even gets the bill. I’ll just leave a little note of explanation. Sure, I could easily tell him what it was for, but I was afraid that explaining that I have a money grubbing father might ruin the mood. I didn’t know what else was going to happen tonight, but I did know that talk of Tom being fleeced by my Dad would probably kill it!
“Look Dad, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you in the morning. Have a good night, right? Ok. ‘Night.”
By the time we hung up the snow was really coming down heavily, so much so that I couldn’t see the end of the garden any more. I shivered as I wrapped the cardigan tighter around me.
“Are you cold?” Tom asked as he entered with two glasses of beer. I’d have been happy drinking from the bottle (less washing up!) but this was okay too.
“A little,” I admitted as I took my beer from his hand. I shrugged ruefully. “It’s more the idea of all that cold snow that’s making me shiver!”
“I’ll put the fire on,” he said as he stepped around the sofas (yes, plural). The room was huge actually, but again, not opulent despite the property being worth millions (I knew it had to be in this part of London) He had movie posters decorating his walls, where he doesn’t have huge bookcases filled with books. Jurasic Park isn’t exactly Monet. I’d have definitely been less impressed with Monet or Picasso.
The fire was only a remote controlled gas one behind glass, but it looked good and gave out a nice heat.
“Your Dad ok?” he asked with a sip of his beer. I sighed.
“Yeah. He’s just…Dad.” I shrugged, and Tom nodded understandingly.
I joined him on the sofa and we looked through his on-screen TV guide.
“Ooh, ooh, Changing Rooms!” I sat up, bouncing enthusiastically, pointing at the screen.
“Seriously??” he sounded incredulous.
“Hey, I love that show!”
He shrugged dubiously, but selected it. We’d missed about ten minutes, but that was just the boring introduction of the families, not the good bits.
“Home improvement TV is my weakness,” I confessed.
“Really?”
“It’s car crash telly, isn’t it? Take this, they each get 500 quid to redecorate a room? You’d be lucky to repaint and have enough left for a nice throw pillow! So they end up badly painting quality furniture and reducing it to the value of a kids scribble, and with every other item of furniture made from MDF chipboard.”
“So you enjoy watching them fail?”
“Or succeed. It’s good when they can overcome the odds… but I confess, I do like the ones where they burst into tears.”
“You have a mean streak,” he teased me. I shrugged.
“I just don’t have a high tolerance for idiots, and who in their right mind would think Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen could make a living room look nice with 500 quid and a shed load of chipboard? They’d be better asking you!”
“That almost feels like a compliment.” he smirked.
“It almost was one.” I grinned back.
We were silent for a while as each designer outlined their “vision” for the rooms.
“He doesn’t seriously want to turn that lovely modern dining room in a modern house, into a medieval banquet hall, does he?” Tom sounded incredulous.
“I’m afraid you heard that right.” I smirked.
“This is not going to end well.” He shook his head dubiously.
I smiled, having converted another one. Then I sat up with a lurch, waving my beer glass at the screen.
“Oh no, don’t do it that way, ya wanker! Jeezus, yer paintin’ like yer still in kindergarten, sloshin’ finger paint around!” I shouted at the screen and flopped back on the sofa, disgusted. Tom snickered.
“Getting a bit wound up over a silly show, are you darling?” I snorted and shrugged.
“It’s an outlet.” I slyly looked at him from the corner of my eye, taking another swallow of my beer. “Shouting at the tossers on the telly keeps me from shouting at idiot homeowners with geysering faucets…”
I snickered as Tom smirked at me.
He had a very sexy smirk. He’d make a good bad guy. You know, the type who ride up on a motorcycle in a white t-shirt and black leather jacket, smirks and seconds later the panties start dropping like fuck. And some boxer briefs, no doubt!
A few moments later it was Tom’s turn to sit forward in indignation and declare, “They’re painting bloody floor tiles? On that nice hardwood floor??”
“Well if they weren’t ‘bloody’ before, I’m guessing they will be by the end.”
“They’re just using emulsion! That stuff will come off in days! Hours, probably!” He was all indignant. And that’s why I love some reality TV, it makes you feel really smart and sensible.
“Is…is that a suit of armour?” I choked.
“I…I’m afraid so.”
“You don’t have one of them, do you?” My head swiveled ‘round to eye him suspiciously.
“Goodness! Why would I?”
“Just seems like a toff thing to have.” I poked.
“No, sorry.”
I sighed my disappointment. “ ‘S okay, I was only going to hide in there and scare the shit out of you…”
“Right, so that’s suits of armour on my ‘never buy’ list.”
“You have a ‘never buy’ list?”
“I do now.” He side-eyed me and I snickered.
About halfway through I found myself curling my feet up under myself and when he moved his arm along the back of the sofa, it just felt natural to lean in.
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