Archive of Our Own

To say Tom was pissed would be the understatement of the year.

He stood across the room, arms crossed so tightly it looked like he was trying to crush his own ribs, an absolutely venomous scowl twisting his features. His eyes burned holes into the back of that guy’s head—Tord, the smug bastard, who was currently laughing it up with Edd and Matt like he hadn’t ghosted them all years ago.

Oh sure, Tord was charming now, talking animatedly with his dumb little hand gestures and that weirdly attractive accent, like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t peaced out to “make it big in the city” and left them all in the dust. And now he just shows up, bags in hand, throwing around hugs like candy, and acts like he still belongs here?

What was worse—what was absolutely unforgivable—was that he was taking Tom’s room.

Okay yeah, technically it was Tord’s before he left. But Tom had moved in, settled, made it his own. It was his now. And Tord just waltzes back in and suddenly he’s reclaiming it like a war prize?

Hell. No.

Tom’s eyes flicked over to the crusty old couch, sitting smug and lumpy in the living room. He grimaced. That thing was fine for the occasional hangover crash or movie marathon nap, but sleep on it every night? His back would never recover. He wasn't about to play martyr for someone who dipped with a shitty excuse of a goodbye.

Seething, he jerked his head toward Edd and snapped, “Edd!”

Edd, caught mid-giggle at whatever Tord was saying, turned with that usual goofy grin—though it dropped quick once he saw the storm cloud on Tom’s face.

Edd approached warily, hands stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie like he knew he was about to get yelled at.

“Tom, I know—”

“If you know, why’re you letting this happen?” Tom hissed, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Make him sleep on the couch, he left.”

The rage and annoyance in his chest flared hotter. Edd’s hesitation only added fuel to the fire. He was about to launch into a full tirade, when—

Speak of the devil.

Tord sauntered over, and Tom immediately felt his jaw clench. The way he walked—so goddamn relaxed—was infuriating. He looked completely at ease, like this was just some casual reunion and not the beginning of a full-blown domestic turf war.

“Woah,” Tord drawled, voice dripping with amusement, “what’s going on? Is Thomas a bit pissy?”

His arm slid around Edd’s shoulder, casual and smug, like he knew exactly what he was doing. Tom bristled immediately.

“Yes, I am,” Tom snapped, eyes narrowing. “I’m not sleeping on the couch.”

Tord tilted his head, lips curling into that infuriating grin. “Hm? Then sleep with me in my bed. You wouldn’t be on the couch and you’d still have your room, ja?”

Tom blinked.

Edd choked on his spit.

And Tord just stood there, smiling like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of a housing dispute.

Tom opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Words were failing him. His brain was doing backflips trying to make sense of whether that was a joke or an actual offer. The audacity—no, the flirtation—the fact that Tord said it with that smooth, devilish grin and a raised brow like he meant it...

Tom’s ears turned red. “You’re disgusting,” he muttered, voice cracking just slightly, and turned on his heel.

But not before he caught Tord’s wink.

Fucking bastard.

Tom stormed off—well, tried to. He managed about three whole steps before he hesitated in the hallway, fists clenched, eyes wide and unblinking as his brain short-circuited from the sheer audacity of what had just happened.

“Then sleep with me in my bed.”

It echoed in his head like a curse. Or worse—an invitation. Tord hadn’t even blinked when he said it. That damn smirk. That little glint in his eye like he knew exactly what he was doing. It wasn’t even subtle. It was blatant. Brazen. Flirty.

And what pissed Tom off the most?

He was actually considering it.

He exhaled through his nose like a bull about to charge and spun on his heel, marching back into the living room like it was a battlefield. Edd and Tord both turned their heads, caught mid-convo about whatever dumbass topic they’d latched onto now. Tord’s smile widened when he saw him.

Tom walked right up to Edd, completely ignoring the red menace next to him, and jabbed a finger into his chest.

“You better find another arrangement, fast. I’m not doing the couch,” he said, voice low and threatening, but there was a distinct lack of conviction behind it. His glare flicked to Tord. “And apparently, I’m stuck with him. So unless you want me murdering a communist in his sleep, fix it.”

Edd looked like he was holding back laughter. “S-So you’re actually gonna…?”

Tom didn’t answer. He turned and walked off again—briskly this time—like if he moved fast enough, he could outrun the embarrassment crawling up his spine. His face was burning, ears hot as hell. The nerve of him. The nerve  of Tord to joke like that and the even worse nerve of Tom to accept it.

He stomped into his—not his—their room, threw his hoodie onto the floor dramatically, and flopped down on the bed like the mattress had personally offended him.

He was in this stupid situation, sharing a bed with that perv because Edd refused to grow a damn spine and because Tord was clearly trying to piss him off—or flirt—honestly it was hard to tell the difference.

Back in the living room, Tord was still grinning. Edd gave him a wide-eyed, baffled look.

“He’s actually doing it?”

Tord just chuckled, arms crossed behind his head casually. “Yeah. He’ll come around.”

Night crept in faster than Tom liked, and suddenly he found himself in the worst-case scenario: laying stiff as a board in his bed… except it wasn’t just his anymore.

The room was dim, the only light bleeding in from the streetlamp outside the window, casting long shadows across the walls. Tom lay on his side, arms wrapped around a pillow like it was some kind of barrier between him and the menace on the other side of the mattress. He kept his back turned, jaw clenched, glaring at the wall as if it had personally caused his suffering.

He could hear Tord breathing. Slow, even, obnoxiously relaxed—as if he wasn’t the reason Tom was in this hellish situation.

It had been an uphill battle to even crawl into bed in the first place. Tom had yanked the blanket aggressively, rolled his eyes at every little comment, and muttered curses under his breath like a mantra. But now? Now the anger was starting to… fade.

Not completely. No, he was still annoyed, still prickling with irritation every time Tord shifted or sighed. But the edge was dulling, worn down by exhaustion and the soft give of the mattress beneath him. The couch really would’ve killed his back.

He almost let himself relax. Almost.

Until he felt movement.

The mattress dipped slightly, the faint rustle of sheets pulling across fabric. Tom froze, eyes snapping open, though he didn’t dare turn his head. He didn’t have to—the warmth creeping closer told him everything.

Tord had shifted.

Now he was facing him.

Tom’s grip on the pillow tightened. He could feel the weight of Tord’s gaze on his back, heavy and unyielding, like a spotlight burning into him.

Don’t turn around. Don’t give him the satisfaction. Don’t—

And yet, his traitorous body leaned ever so slightly into the warmth radiating from Tord’s side of the bed. Just enough to notice. Just enough to betray the tiniest crack in his stubborn resolve.

Then came the soft, quiet sound of Tord chuckling under his breath. Low. Amused. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Tom’s heart kicked against his ribs.

Fucking bastard.

The silence stretched, thick and tense, and Tom was this close to snapping something snarky over his shoulder when the bed shifted again. This time, there was no mistaking it—Tord wasn’t just facing him anymore.

He was pressing up against him.

Tom’s whole body went rigid. He could feel the heat of Tord’s chest against his back, the faint brush of his breath ghosting along the back of his neck.

“...The hell are you doing?” Tom growled, voice low, sharp—though it came out weaker than he’d intended.

Tord hummed, amused, the vibration of it rumbling right into Tom’s shoulder blades. “Mm, getting comfortable. Is that a problem, Thomas?” His accent curled around the words, smug as ever.

Tom gritted his teeth. “Yeah, it is a problem—”

But then Tord shifted even closer, their bodies flush now, his arm sliding lazily over Tom’s waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. Tom could feel the bastard grinning against his hair.

“You’re warm,” Tord murmured. Teasing. Deliberate. “Better than the couch, ja?”

Tom’s breath hitched before he could stop it, a sharp inhale that gave him away. He scowled into the pillow, face burning. “Get your hands off me.”

“Funny,” Tord said, his voice a low purr, “you don’t sound like you really mean that.”

Tom’s stomach twisted, a mix of fury and… something else. He hated it. He hated the way his body betrayed him, how he didn’t shove Tord away immediately, how his pulse quickened instead of calming down.

He let out a frustrated noise, somewhere between a growl and a groan. “You’re such a fucking creep.”

“Maybe,” Tord mused, his lips brushing dangerously close to Tom’s ear now, “but you’re still letting me hold you.”

Tom squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the shiver that crawled down his spine. He was pissed, yeah. But under all that anger, buried deep and unspoken, was a flicker of something else—something that made his chest feel tight and his throat dry.

And Tord? Tord knew it. The smug bastard always knew.

Tom was seconds away from throwing another insult over his shoulder when he felt it—soft, deliberate, warm.

Tord’s lips pressed against the side of his neck.

He froze, breath catching in his throat, his entire body jolting like someone had plugged him into a socket. The kiss was light at first, almost innocent, but then Tord did it again—slower this time, firmer, right where the slope of Tom’s jaw met his throat.

Tom let out a strangled noise. “Wh—what the fuck are you—”

Another kiss cut him off, this one lingering, lips brushing over the edge of his pulse. Then another, lower, closer to his collarbone.

Tord chuckled against his skin, the vibration sending shivers up Tom’s spine. “I knew you missed me,” he murmured, voice low and teasing.

Tom’s face went hot instantly, ears burning. He tried to scoff, but it came out breathless. “Missed you? In your dreams, commie.” His words were sharp, but his body betrayed him—he was leaning back, letting Tord’s mouth trail over his neck like he couldn’t help it.

Tord smirked against his skin, teeth grazing lightly. “Ah, but dreams come true, no?” He pressed another kiss just below Tom’s ear, then nipped gently, earning a hiss. “You’re not pushing me away.”

Tom groaned, half in frustration, half in… well, something else entirely. “You’re insufferable. Always have been.”

“And yet,” Tord murmured, lips brushing down the column of his throat, “you are melting for me.”

Tom’s hand twitched, gripping the pillow tighter like it was the only thing keeping him tethered. His body was betraying him left and right—breath stuttering, skin heating, muscles relaxing despite his brain screaming at him to shove Tord off.

“Y-you’re reading too much into it,” Tom snapped weakly, though his voice cracked halfway through.

Tord laughed softly, dragging his mouth back up until his lips hovered at Tom’s ear. “Nah, Tom. I think I’m reading you just fine.”

Tom’s entire body buzzed, irritation and desire knotted up in one confusing mess. “I hate you,” he muttered, but it was quieter this time, softer, like the fight was already draining from him.

And Tord, smug as ever, only pressed closer, whispering against his skin like he’d already won:

“I missed you too.”

The room felt thick with heat, the air so heavy Tom swore it was suffocating him. Tord’s lips hadn’t left his neck, brushing lazy, teasing kisses over every inch of skin he could reach. Tom’s chest rose and fell too quickly, his fists still clutching the pillow like it might save him from drowning in this mess of irritation, tension, and the humiliating flutter in his stomach.

Then Tord’s mouth paused, just below his ear. The bastard’s smirk was audible in his voice when he murmured, low and playful:

“Thomas… I want to hear you say you want me.”

The words hit Tom like a punch. His breath caught, his whole body tensing, because yeah it sounded teasing, cocky, like Tord was just being the usual smug menace—but there was something else there too. A weight under the tone. Asking. Waiting. Not pushing further unless Tom gave it to him.

Tom’s throat felt dry. His pride screamed at him to spit back some sarcastic remark, to tell Tord to shove it, but his body betrayed him yet again. He wanted this. Wanted the closeness, the heat, the attention. Wanted him.

He hated himself for it.

“…You’re an asshole,” Tom muttered, voice rough and trembling.

Tord only chuckled against his skin, tilting his head so his lips ghosted along Tom’s jaw. “Mm, maybe. But say it for me, ja? Say you want me.”

There was a long silence—Tom’s chest heaving, his face burning so hot it felt like it might combust. Finally, he let out a shaky exhale, squeezing his eyes shut as the words slipped out, quiet but undeniable:

“…I want you.”

The shift in the air was immediate. Tord hummed, pleased, and pressed a slow kiss to the side of Tom’s mouth before sliding his hand down, over Tom’s stomach, fingers deliberate and firm as they traced under the hem of his shirt.

Tom sucked in a sharp breath, body flinching at the touch but not moving away. His heart pounded in his ears, every nerve lit up.

“Good boy,” Tord purred, letting his hand wander lower, over Tom’s hips and down to rest against his thigh. His touch was slow, teasing, like he was savoring every inch of him. “I was hoping you’d give in.”

Tom groaned, trying to roll his eyes even as his voice cracked, “Don’t get all cocky about it—”

But his words died out when Tord’s hand slipped between his thighs, squeezing just enough to make his breath stutter.

“Too late,” Tord whispered against his ear, his other arm tightening around Tom’s waist, pulling him back flush against his chest.

And Tom, despite every insult on the tip of his tongue, melted right into it.

Tord’s hand lingered at Tom’s thigh, fingers teasing slow circles like he had all the time in the world. Tom was stiff against him, fists knotted in the sheets, but not once did he tell him to stop. His chest rose and fell with sharp, uneven breaths, his pride warring with the heat spreading low in his stomach.

“Relax, Thomas…” Tord purred against his ear, lips brushing the shell of it before trailing kisses down his neck again. “I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

Tom’s throat bobbed. He hated how those words—gentle beneath all the smugness—were what finally loosened something inside him. His shoulders eased just a little, his legs shifting apart without him realizing, giving Tord’s hand more room to wander.

“Y-you talk too much,” Tom muttered, his voice raw, but the bite was weak.

“Oh?” Tord chuckled, his hand sliding higher, brushing over the front of Tom’s boxers. “Then I’ll let you do the talking. Tell me what you want.”

Tom’s face burned so hot it was a miracle he didn’t burst into flames. Every instinct screamed to keep his mouth shut, to dig in his heels, but the need curling inside him was stronger. When Tord’s palm pressed firmer, cupping him with deliberate slowness, a choked sound slipped from his throat before he could swallow it down.

Tord grinned against his skin, kissing the corner of his jaw. “There it is. Sweet, isn’t it?”

“Sh-shut up,” Tom groaned, but the way his hips twitched against Tord’s hand betrayed him.

The commie bastard had him figured out already, and Tom hated it. Hated how quickly his irritation was being melted down into something softer, needier.

Tord’s fingers hooked under the waistband, slow enough to give him every chance to protest. “Let me, Tom,” he whispered, that teasing lilt still there, but softened—like he was actually asking.

Tom squeezed his eyes shut, heart pounding like a war drum. He could feel every inch of Tord pressed against his back, could feel his own body betraying him with the way it leaned into the touch. With a shaky exhale, he finally nodded. “…Fine. But if you tell anyone I swear—”

“I won’t,” Tord interrupted smoothly, lips curving into a smirk as he slid his hand fully inside.

The first brush of Tord’s fingers against his cunt ripped a gasp straight out of Tom, his whole body jolting. He buried his face into the pillow, cursing under his breath.

“Faen, you’re already wet,” Tord murmured, sounding far too pleased with himself. He kissed Tom’s shoulder, his hand moving with slow, teasing strokes. “You really did miss me.”

Tom let out a strangled noise, gripping the pillow tighter like it could ground him. “You’re—hah—so full of yourself—”

“And you’re soaking my hand,” Tord countered smoothly, curling his fingers just right, pulling another desperate sound from Tom’s throat.

Tom wanted to argue, to spit some insult, to deny every bit of it… but all that came out was a shaky moan as his hips rolled helplessly into Tord’s touch.

Tom was already a mess, face buried in the pillow, muffling every broken sound that slipped past his lips. His thighs had started trembling, legs twitching with every curl of Tord’s fingers, and it was driving him insane that he couldn’t keep quiet—every moan, every gasp was betraying him.

Tord pulled back just a little, his mouth still pressed to Tom’s shoulder, and hummed like he was thinking. His fingers slowed, dragging wetly against Tom’s folds until Tom whimpered, hips rocking desperately for more.

“Mm, Tom…” Tord’s voice dropped low, teasing, but there was a sharp edge of hunger beneath it. “I think I want a taste,”

Tom’s head shot up, eyes wide, ears blazing red. “Wha—Tord—don’t you dare—”

Too late.

Tord shifted down the bed, peeling Tom onto his back despite the weak push against his shoulder. Tom’s knees bent instinctively, thighs already parted, his whole body shaking as Tord settled between them with a look that was downright predatory.

“You look delicious like this,” Tord purred, dragging his hands up Tom’s thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh. His grin widened at the sight of Tom’s dripping cunt, glistening in the dim light. “Hm… I’ve missed this.”

Tom groaned, throwing an arm over his face to hide. “Shut the fuck up—”

The words cut off instantly with a sharp cry when Tord licked a broad stripe up his cunt, slow and deliberate, savoring him. Tom’s back arched off the mattress, hands scrambling for the sheets, his face burning hotter than ever.

“F-fuck—!”

Tord chuckled into him, the vibration making Tom’s hips buck. He pressed his mouth back down, tongue flicking expertly over Tom’s clit before sucking it into his mouth with obscene wet sounds. His grip on Tom’s thighs tightened, holding him open as he devoured him like he’d been starving.

Tom was falling apart fast, every sharp remark crumbling into shaky moans and gasps. “Y-you’re—ahh—such a bastard—oh my god—”

Tord pulled back just enough to murmur, lips glistening, “And you love it.” Then he dove back in, tongue pushing inside, curling deep, dragging another broken sound out of Tom’s throat.

It was filthy—wet and loud, his mouth working him over relentlessly, switching between sucking his clit and tongue-fucking him until Tom was trembling, thighs trying to clamp shut only to be forced open by Tord’s strong grip.

Tom’s hand flew down before he realized it, tangling in Tord’s hair, tugging harshly. “D-don’t stop—!” he choked out, his pride completely gone, replaced with raw, desperate need.

Tord only groaned into him, eating him out with messy enthusiasm, saliva mixing with Tom’s slick as it dripped down his chin. Every lap of his tongue sent sparks through Tom’s nerves, every sharp suck on his clit winding him tighter and tighter.

He was spiraling, his body moving on instinct, rolling his hips against Tord’s mouth like he needed him deeper, closer, more.

And the worst part?

Tord gave it to him. Happily.

Tom was unraveling. Completely, hopelessly, embarrassingly unraveling. His thighs shook, his chest heaved, his voice cracked in ways he didn’t even know it could. Every time Tord’s tongue dragged over his clit, his whole body jolted like a live wire.

“F-fuck, I—” Tom’s words dissolved into a strangled moan, one hand fisting in the sheets, the other yanking at Tord’s hair like he didn’t know if he wanted to pull him away or hold him there forever. “You’re—hahh—you’re so—nghh—”

Tord smirked against him, mouth wet and messy, sucking hard enough on his clit that Tom cried out, sharp and broken. “So what, Thomas?” he teased, lips brushing against slick skin as he spoke. His voice was low, wrecked, playful. “Say it.”

“I hate you—!” Tom spat, but his voice cracked, betraying him as his hips bucked into Tord’s mouth.

“Ohh, no, you love me like this,” Tord murmured, before plunging his tongue back inside, curling it deep and groaning like Tom was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

Tom’s entire body arched, his back slamming against the mattress. “Shit—shitshitshit—” he gasped, legs trembling violently. The coil in his gut was pulling tighter and tighter, sharp and unbearable, every nerve lit on fire.

Tord doubled down, sucking his clit into his mouth again, tongue flicking rapid and precise. His hands pinned Tom’s thighs wide, refusing to let him close up, forcing him to take every single wave of pleasure until Tom was sobbing into his arm, muffling his own moans.

“F-fuck, I—! I can’t—Tord, I’m—!”

That only spurred him on. Tord groaned against him, the vibrations ripping through Tom like an electric current.

And then Tom broke.

His climax hit hard, brutal, knocking the air from his lungs. His thighs clamped helplessly against Tord’s grip, his whole body shaking, a ragged cry tearing free from his throat. He convulsed against the sheets, riding it out as Tord kept eating him through it, relentless, drinking down everything he gave like he couldn’t get enough.

Tom’s vision went white around the edges, every muscle strung tight before finally collapsing into complete limpness, sweat-damp hair plastered to his forehead.

Tord pulled back at last, licking his lips slow and obscene, his chin glistening. He leaned up, crawling over Tom’s trembling body, and pressed a kiss to his jaw—mockingly sweet.

“Shit, Thomas,” he murmured with a smug grin. “You taste even better than I remembered.”

Tom, still panting, face red and sweaty, groaned weakly into the pillow. “I hate you so fucking much.”

Tord chuckled, settling comfortably against him, his hand stroking over Tom’s chest. “Mhm. And yet you just screamed my name.”

Tom wanted to punch him. He really did. But his body was too wrecked, his limbs too heavy. All he could do was scowl half-heartedly, mumble “shut up,” and melt back into the sheets.

And Tord, the bastard, just grinned like he’d won a war.

Tom was still sprawled out on the mattress, chest rising and falling hard, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead. His thighs twitched every now and then, aftershocks rippling through his body, leaving him nothing but a trembling heap.

Tord hovered above him, licking the last of Tom’s taste off his lips with that infuriating grin. His hand stroked lazily over Tom’s stomach, thumb tracing little circles like he was so proud of how wrecked he’d left him.

“You look beautiful like this,” Tord murmured, his accent thicker, voice lower—hungry. “Completely undone… for me.”

Tom groaned weakly, tossing an arm over his face. “Don’t start. I can’t even move right now.”

Tord only chuckled, leaning down to kiss along his jaw, sucking another mark into his neck. “Good. Then all you have to do is lie there while I take what I want, hm?”

That snapped Tom’s eyes open, his face flaring red. “W-wait, what the hell—”

But Tord was already sliding down again, his hands gripping Tom’s thighs, pushing them apart with no resistance thanks to how wrecked he was. Tom’s cunt was still glistening, dripping from the orgasm he’d just had, and Tord’s pupils blew wide at the sight.

“Fuck…” he hissed through his teeth, his cock straining in his pants. “Look at you. Still messy for me.”

Tom tried to glare, but it was ruined by the shaky whimper that slipped out when Tord’s thumb dragged over his swollen clit. His hips jerked, overstimulated and desperate all at once.

“N-no—too much—”

“Too much?” Tord teased, leaning down to kiss his thigh, his breath hot against Tom’s slick folds. “Or not enough?”

Tom’s body betrayed him with another roll of his hips, chasing the friction. He cursed under his breath, biting his lip. “You’re such a—fuck—dickhead.”

Tord’s grin turned sharp. He sat up, finally undoing his belt with one hand, pulling his cock free—hard, flushed, already leaking. Tom’s eyes widened, a nervous spark shooting through his belly as he realized what was coming.

“You had your turn, Tom,” Tord said smoothly, stroking himself once before lining up. “Now I want mine.”

“W-wait, you—fuck, slow down!” Tom yelped, his legs trembling as Tord pressed the head against his soaked entrance.

“I’ll be gentle,” Tord murmured, though the way his breath hitched gave away how badly he wanted to sink in. “You can take it. You’re perfect for me.”

And with a slow, steady push, he eased inside—stretching Tom open, inch by inch, until Tom’s back arched off the mattress, a strangled cry ripping out of him.

“F-fuck—Tord!”

Tord groaned low in his throat, his head dropping to Tom’s shoulder as he buried himself fully. “Shit… you’re so tight around me, Thomas. Like you were made for this.”

Tom’s nails dug into Tord’s arms, his body trembling violently as he tried to adjust. “You—you’re insane—hahhh—”

Tord’s lips brushed his ear, whispering with a dark little laugh, “Maybe. But you’re still letting me fuck you.”

And then he pulled back and drove in again, harder this time, making Tom see stars.

But then Tord set a rhythm that was almost… tender at first, rolling his hips deep and slow, making sure Tom could feel every inch. His hands cradled Tom’s thighs, spreading him wide, thumbs stroking little soothing circles on the trembling skin like he was trying to calm him down.

“You’re so good for me,” he murmured, pressing kisses along Tom’s jaw, his temple, his lips—everywhere he could reach. “Taking me so perfectly. Do you feel how perfect you are?”

Tom whimpered into the kisses, arms looping weakly around Tord’s shoulders like he hated himself for clinging. His chest ached with the mix of shame and relief—hating that he needed this, but melting under the attention anyway.

“You’re talking too much,” Tom rasped out, trying to sound annoyed but his voice cracked halfway through.

Tord chuckled softly against his neck, the sound smug but warm. “You love it when I talk to you. Admit it.”

Tom just buried his face against Tord’s shoulder, muttering incoherently while his body clenched down tight, proving Tord right.

And then Tord shifted his angle, snapping his hips forward—deeper, harder, sharper. Tom yelped, his legs kicking out as the pleasure hit like a lightning strike.

“Ahhh—fuck, wait—!”

“No waiting,” Tord huffed out against his throat, voice raw with lust. “I want to hear you scream for me.”

The pace turned brutal in an instant, the slow grind exploding into fast, relentless thrusts that had Tom’s body bouncing on the mattress. His nails clawed into Tord’s back, leaving streaks of red as he tried to hold on.

“T-Tord—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Tord snapped, almost desperate now. “You will. Fffuck, cum for me again..”

Tom’s head fell back against the pillow, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes as he moaned brokenly, his entire body trembling with overstimulation. “I—hahhh—I already—!”

Tord pressed his forehead to Tom’s, panting against his lips, and in a sudden flip of tone, whispered sweetly, “Shhh, I’ve got you, Thomas. Just one more. You can give me one more, can’t you?”

The mix of that raw sweetness and the rough fucking snapped something in Tom. His walls clenched hard around Tord, dragging another orgasm out of him so violently his vision went white. His back arched, a scream tearing from his throat as his body shook.

“F-FUCKKKK—!”

Tord groaned, nearly undone just from the sight of Tom falling apart beneath him. He kissed him through it, messy and desperate, swallowing his cries like he couldn’t stand to waste a sound.

And still—still—he didn’t stop. His hips kept moving, chasing his own high, fucking Tom through his orgasm until the overstimulation made him sob and thrash under him.

“T-Tord—! You fffucking ass, please, too much, I—!”

Tord shushed him, voice ragged but soft, “I know, I know, but you feel so good—I can’t stop, Thomas—don’t make me stop—”

Tom was torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer, his body betraying him as every rough thrust sent sparks down his spine even while his cunt begged for mercy.

And Tord… oh, Tord wasn’t letting up until he got his own release. His thrusts turned sloppy, needy, his teeth sinking into Tom’s shoulder as he finally came with a guttural groan, spilling hot inside him.

He stayed buried to the hilt, shaking, clutching Tom close like he’d fall apart otherwise.

The room went quiet except for their wrecked breathing. Tom lay limp, boneless, blinking at the ceiling like he’d been hit by a truck.

Tord, still panting, kissed his temple with a surprisingly tender little hum. “See? You did miss me.”

Tom groaned weakly, shoving his face into Tord’s chest to hide the blush on his ruined, tear-streaked face. “Shut the fuck up…”