TomTord Oneshots

Bounty Hunters and Sexual Tension

"Oh come on Tord, you've caught all my dirty tricks in the past, I'm sure you can handle just one game of cards with me." Tom smiled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorway of the starship herself.

"Besides. You aren't chicken, are you?"

Oh that does it.

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.

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Okay maybe Tom should've thought this through first.
Sure,, he wasn't too good of a player when he didn't use scam-artist tools. And sure, Tord was a scarily smart man (I mean, how else could he have guessed Tom was cheating the first time they met at that casino, or how he was the first one to ever realize the galactic trucker's name that one week?), but in his defense.. he thought he'd have lady luck on his side!
Haha fuck, he's not even a woman!,,

All in all, Tom was losing at his own game and Tord was winning. Two player blackjack... Shit—

"HA! FUCKING HIT BABY!"

Tom angrily slammed his deck against the table, watching as Tord cockily cashed in the million woolong they were betting on. Taking his sweet, sweet time counting each separate buck. That snarky, punchable face. The fucking look as he eyed the man who was practically pouting like a baby at his own loss.
"Tsk tsk. And all it took was ten minutes after catching another one of your scams. How amusing."

The Brit snarled, grabbing a fistful of the fucker's button up shirt to fiercely pull him down to his level, their noses touching and Tord's beautiful off-colored eyes nonchalantly starting right back at Tom's narrowed breathless ones.
"Listen here you horned-hair cancer stick consuming piece of shit, you were just lucky! Next time, you'll—"

Tom flinched at the sudden hand grabbing at his hip, looking up only to catch Tord's signature smirk.
"I'll what? You said this would be our only game, after all."

"...A man can change his mind y'know." He said as he bit his lips, hesitantly relaxing into Tord's addicting touch.

"Not all men are as indecisive as you."

"Yeah? Well not all men are horrible kissers like you, cowboy." Tom gripped onto Tord's broad shoulders, feeling his chilling hot breath against his neck.

Tord leaned in even further, their bodies pressing against one another, his lips brushing up on Tom's ear. "Oh really? I can prove that wrong, right here, right now." He whispered.

Another fleet of chills fiercely ran down Tom's spine.

Tom wrapped his arms around Tord's neck, glaring.
"Just fucking kiss me already,"

And Tord complied, maybe a bit too eagerly.

Pecks start out as pecks, breathless kisses in an unbroken stream. Their lips touched for brief moments complimented with the aggressive gropes Tom was gaining from the Norwegian, yet no complaints seemed to have crossed his mind.

The pecks soon deepened after Tom pushed Tord onto the couch (fuck, Tord could feel an erection from that), crawling onto his lap only to angrily yet desperately connect their lips together once more.
He ran his fingers through the back of Tord's hair, gripping and pulling and falling addicted to the way Tord roughly grabbed at his rear beneath his latex suit which forced him to groan against Tord's chapped-lips.

Tom's anger, albeit mixed with a little bit of arousment, soon desiccated into pure desire and need; his furrowed eyebrows now scrunched up at the pleasure of Tord's touches and kisses, his aggressive pulls simply becoming soft and feeble tugs.