Complete Again (TomTord Mpreg)

One

"Tom, you idiot, you know what I mean," Tord murmured, glancing at the window, brows furrowed. "I-...I need you."

There was a tense pause between them as Tom's groggy confusion turned to realization.

"...Tord, it's been eight years, are you fucking serious?"

A rough swallow and a nod.

"You don't need me to take care of it. Just go...wank off in the bathroom or something. I won't tell."

"No!" Tord hissed out, finally tearing his eyes away from the window. Tom put his hands up in an attempt to stop Tord, the latter defiantly crawling onto Tom's bed, his problem becoming more apparent to the Brit. He watched as Tord sat on his own legs, a few inches from Tom's knee. His problem pressed unrelentingly against his stomach, giving his boxers a tent. His skin was flushed and his lips puffy and red from biting. The fabric of his boxers was soaked with precum, his body desperate for the touch it had been missing for so long.

"I don't think you understand, Thomas. I need you now." He panted, his gaze meeting Tom's, their steely resolve crumbling, and fast. "Fuck me...please."

"...How long have you been like this?" Tom mumbled, shifting to get a better look at the hot and bothered Norwegian. He almost looked like he cared. "You look exhausted."

Tord challenged Tom's wandering eyes, refusing to look away no matter how embarrassed he felt. "Since we laid down, it's been a few hours. It just won't stop."

"And you didn't think to wake me up sooner?"

Tord wanted to hit Tom, right then and there, but he stopped himself. He knew better than that. If he wanted anything from Tom, he would have to say exactly what the Brit wanted to hear.

"I thought about it, but I thought you'd be mad." He drew in a shivering breath, struggling to carry the conversation. "You're not mad, right?" He put his hand on Tom's thigh, his touch warm and surprisingly gentle.

"I don't think I can be. You look like you could cum just from me thinking about what I'm gonna do to you." A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "You really know how to flatter me." Tom smirked, earning a quiet 'tch' from Tord.

Tord looked down at the sheets, speaking before he could process what was leaving his lips. "I don't give a shit about flattery, Thomas. I don't, just fuck me. That's all I want." He begged, the hand on Tom's thigh giving a light squeeze of frustration. "I'll sleep on the couch tomorrow, I'll leave you alone."

Tom was quiet for a while, seemingly thinking about his odds. About the hand on his thigh. About fucking Tord until he wouldn't breathe. "...Fine."

Tord wasted no time in removing his shirt, quickly tossing it to the floor. Tom sat up a bit more, doing the same with his tank top seconds later, the fabric meeting Tord's on the floor. They took each other in for a moment, surprised by the amount of change eight years apart had caused.

Tord's once relaxed middle was now solid muscle, toughened and scarred from eight years of war. Tom, on the other hand, had only further softened, lax from laziness and an obvious alcohol problem. This didn't seem to phase either of them, as they immediately got to what Tord had wanted to do. Tord shifted to sit on Tom's thigh, gently palming the brit through his boxers, trying to get him hard. He was more than halfway just from the sight of Tord in such a condition, and Tord knew he couldn't wait much longer.

"I've missed this..." He murmured absently, running his fingers a bit closer together along Tom's clothed shaft. Tom reacted almost instantly, his breath audibly hitching as Tord quickened his pace. Tom's brows were furrowed, his mouth opening to pant. "I've...missed you." Tord finished his thought.