Before he had moved out, Tord rarely let himself go into Tom's room. The Brit would either throw shit until he left the doorway, or they'd start to argue, and Edd would have to break it up. On the rare occasion that he was let in, however, he and Tom almost always ended up fucking. It was always anything but passionate, always hasty and incredibly rough from the fear of getting caught. Tord would never call it 'making love' in any sense of the word.
Their relationship was strange - only in Tom's room did they ever engage in this. They agreed to keep it a secret, unsure what Matt and Edd would think if they found out. The second either of them left the room, they would simply act like nothing had happened and return to hating one another. Tord knew he could never bring himself to fully hate Tom - he associated him with such passionate sex and such gentle aftercare that it was almost impossible. Tord would even dare to say that he had enjoyed Tom's presence, the problem being that the only time he had ever been close enough to Tom to have his scent in his senses was when the Brit was buried to the hilt in him, muting any noise he could be making by biting and kissing hickies into Tord's neck.
Now that Tord had to stay in a room full of that scent, he was nearly suffocating on his arousal. He knew that Tom's scent had imprinted on him before he left, but he never thought it was this severe, this toxic. It had been eight years - Tord should have gotten over this! Yet, the musky, alcohol-esque scent that hung heavy over the room was driving him mad. He almost wished that Tom followed through with Edd's deal.
Edd favored Tord upon his arrival, and had kindly asked Tom to sleep on the sofa. Tom refused, saying that it was his room now and Tord would have to accept that, whether he liked it or not. Edd didn't let it go, however, and forced Tom to set up an inflatable mattress on the floor of his room for Tord. A makeshift bed covered in the intoxicating smell of Tom. The blankets, the pillows, all if them were the Brit's.
Tord was going to go insane.
His cock was aching, pressed painfully against his stomach as he lay awake on the makeshift bed. He had pushed the blankets away from himself hours ago - his body was too hot, twitching with need. Tom had long since fallen asleep, his gentle breathing becoming the only sound Tord could focus on. Tord's breathing was shallow, struggling to hold in his arousal. He didn't know what do to.
If he touched himself and Tom woke up, Tom would likely beat the shit out of him before telling Edd and Matt that he was a pervert. If he left it alone, he would never be able to sleep, and would be in agony all night. Tord couldn't believe himself - he was the leader of an entire fucking army, and he was pining over someone as insignificant as Thomas-fucking-Ridge.
He knew with every fiber of his being what he wanted, but he was terrified to ask for it. A heavy pondering silence fell over the room, barely broken by Tord's quickened and hitched breaths. He bartered with himself, mentally trying to talk himself out of what he was about to do.
"Tom," he choked, his tensed shoulder lifting as he held back a groan. Nothing.
"T-Thomas-"
A quiet whine. Groggy mumbling and the creak of the bed as he shifted to get a better look at the Norwegian. "The fuck do you want...?" Tom growled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
Tord carefully sat up and moved to sit with his legs crossed as both he and the inflatable mattress groaned in protest. From the side of the bed, Tom could only see Tord from the chest and up, hiding the upright bulge in his boxers.
"Can I come up?" He mumbled, earning a chuckle from Tom.
"Shit's the same down there as it is up here."
Tord sat up a bit taller, his breath audibly hitching as his cock brushed the side of Tom's bed. Tord forced himself to maintain his composure, rather than moaning desperately at any touch he could get.
"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.
"Really, huh?" Tom breathed, struggling to hide his arousal."Funny way to show it..."
Tord laughed quietly, leaning in closer, his face now mere inches from Tom's. "I'll show you just," he ran his thumb over the visible head of Tom's cock, thumbing the slit. Tom grunted, his cock twitching under Tord's hand. "How much I missed you." His breath was soft against Tom's face, making the Brit breathe a bit harsher. Tord closed the gap between them, catching Tom's noises with his lips. Tom's hands wandered over Tord as they kissed, stopping at his hips, tracing the protruding bone with his thumbs. Tord suddenly began rolling his hips, grinding himself against Tom's thigh as he moved to tug down the waistband of Tom's boxers. The kiss became needy as Tord wrapped a hand around Tom's cock, stroking along with the bucking of his hips. Tord pulled himself away before he got lost in the act.
"Good job, Thomas." He purred, slowing his touch on Tom's cock - pleased with the knowledge that it was fully hard. He let go of Tom's length, which immediately stood at attention against his stomach, leaking precum and twitching with need. Looking at it made Tord's temperature rise with excitement.
"So, how do you wanna do this?" Tom asked, earning a hum of question from Tord. "It's been eight years, Tord, your favourite position could've changed or something."
Smiling, Tord shook his head. "It's still the same."
"Alright, let's get you ready then." Tom grunted as he reached for the nightstand. He pulled a small bottle of lube from one of the drawers, diligently spreading some on his fingers. As he did so, Tord moved to lay over Tom, his knees on either side of the other man's thighs. Tord laid his head on Tom's chest, waiting for Tom to start.
This was Tord's favourite part, if he remembered correctly. Tom would trail warm hands down Tord's waist, gently pulling down his boxers. Two fingers would go in at once, scissoring and dragging, readying him for what was to come. Tord was usually quiet during this process, but he had gone eight years without Tom.
His breaths were quick and heavy, the occasional hiccup-like hitch joining into his shallow breaths. Tom's movements were inconsistent - an uneven mix of fast and slow, practically driving Tord up a wall.
When Tom put another finger in, Tord bucked forward suddenly, leaking precum onto the Brit below him, and the ache in his cock was only worsening.
"Fuck, hurry up." Tord whined, biting on his knuckles to keep quiet. Tom smiled, his free hand moving to rub Tord's back.
"But I don't remember you being this vocal," Tom purred into the Norwegian's hair, quickly curling his fingers against Tord's prostate to elicit a quiet, shaky moan. "It's really hot, if I'm being honest."
"Ugh, Fuck off..." Tord groaned, involuntarily grinding his hips against Tom's stomach as the fingers inside of him continued to move. Tom's belly was soft, providing the friction Tord desperately needed. The second Tord started pressing back on the digits, Tom withdrew them.
"I think you're ready enough."
Tord nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. His body was too hot, shaking from Tom's preparation alone. He forced himself to sit up, jittery as he moved to kneel properly above Tom's thighs, feeling the Brit's length pressing against the base of his own.
"You ready?" Tord breathed, pushing some hair behind his ears.
"I could ask you the same thing," Tom chuckled, his hand falling to rest on Tord's trembling thigh. "You're a mess already."
"Shut up," Tord hissed, "I know."
Tom was right. Tord's face was flushed, and his breaths hot and heavy. A thin sheen of sweat was covering the most of his body, his hair clinging to his cheeks and forehead.
"Okay, okay," Tom mumbled absently, lifting his cock away from his stomach as Tord moved to kneel above it. "Whenever you're ready."
Tord nodded, bringing himself to rest above Tom's cock, the head already pressing in a bit. His hand flew to his mouth as he lowered, struggling to keep silent. He paused, panting, having only taken Tom in halfway.
"You good?" Tom asked, genuine concern in his voice as he moved to hold Tord's waist.
"Y-Yeah," Tord breathed through his fingers, "...'s been a while, feels weird."
"Good weird or bad weird?"
"Good weird." Tord smiled behind his hand, knowing that Tom couldn't see it. He waited a moment before continuing, Tom moving his hand out from under the Norwegian as he reached the base. Tord stayed still, knowing he would go over the edge from that alone.
Eight years without Tom, and their first fucking night in the same room was as if they never separated. Tord was conflicted about it, but he knew he'd have to take this slow.
His arms trembled, fingers shaking against his lips as he panted roughly. He was at eye level with Tom, but he refused to look at the Brit, embarrassed by his noises, by his sensitivity. The only things that filled the silence was Tord's fervid breaths and Matt's snoring from across the house.
They would have to be silent if they didn't want to get caught.
Tord couldn't bring himself to move just yet, he was far too sensitive. He grounded himself by focusing on Tom's shoulder.
"Tord," Tom whispered gruffly. Hearing his name made the Norwegian shudder, but he didn't look up. "Tord, look at me." Tord obeyed, turning his head towards Tom. The Brit reached out for Tord's hand, moving it away from his face before pressing his lips gently to Tord's. He lazily nibbled on Tord's lower lip and they continued gently kissing, the Norwegian painfully aware that Tom was still holding his hand. He'd never done that before.
Given the smallest amount of reassurance, Tord decided to start moving. He raised his hips carefully, about halfway, his free hand moving to rest on Tom's chest for support. He came down faster than he thought he would, moaning quietly into the kiss, the sound egged Tom on, encouraging him as the kiss got deeper and more needy.
Tord soon found a slow, barely passionate rhythm to his bouncing, not wanting to disrupt the kiss by moving too fast.
Now that Tord really thought about it, he and Tom had never kissed like this when they had sex. Eight years ago, Tom's mouth stayed strictly on Tord's neck, but now they were legitimately making out while Tord rode the damn brit. Tom had wanted this though, he was the one that brought their lips together.
In the handful of kisses he'd ever shared with Tom, the brit had initiated most of them. Their first was ten years ago, one that Tord always thought about.
Tord moaned again, needily rolling his hips as he came down. Just as he remembered, Tom was silent, spare for the harsh breathing coming from his nose as the two of them kissed.
Tom let go of Tord's hand suddenly, his own snaking down Tord's body. Tord broke the kiss, arching his back in surprise as Tom wrapped a firm hand around the norsk's cock. Both men were panting, Tom holding his classic shit-eating grin as he began to stroke Tord's member, agonizingly slow.
Tord groaned, his hand returning to his mouth as he continued to move.
"Stop doing that." Tom barked a whisper, his stroking barely slowing.
"Wh-...Wha...?"
"Don't cover your mouth. I wanna hear you." Tord reluctantly moved his palm away from his face, his lips parted in a quiet pant.
"But...Tom, we have to be quiet, I-" Tord was cut off with a pathetic moan as Tom began thumbing the slit of his cock.
"We'll be fine. If anyone says anything, I've got us covered."
Tord nodded hesitantly, still unsure. "What would-...gh, what would you even say?"
"That you were crying, it already sounds like that." Tord wanted to strangle him, right then and there. How much more embarrassing could Tom make this? He seemed to notice Tord's expression, offering a soft chuckle. "Here, if it takes your mind off of covering your mouth, we can get to your favourite part."
Second favourite, Tord thought.
Tom knew what buttons to push to get Tord off, and one of them was his neck. Tord could get off from hickies alone, and Tom knew that. That's what they did when they were pressed for time. Tord leaned back in, waiting for Tom to rest his head in the curve of his neck. Tom did as he promised, and immediately began sucking at Tord's collarbone.
With a sudden stir, Tord began to bounce again, both hands resting on Tom's chest as he rode him. Everything was soft and gentle; Tord could almost feel how much Tom cared in every touch. Their pace was passionate enough for Tord to consider calling this "making love", though he knew he never would. That meant he'd have to admit to loving Tom.
Tord's breathing was laden with quiet moans and hitches, never loud enough to be heard from across the room. These sounds were for Tom's ears only, encouraging him as he left his third and fourth hickey.
"Hellige helvete..." he moaned, shaking.
Tord could feel the sting of the forming hickies and knew he would be unable to hide them. Two were on his collarbone, one on the middle of his neck, and Tom working the fourth into the skin just below Tord's jawline.
"Fuh-nhnn...Fuck..." He moaned under his breath as Tom bit down, not hard enough to draw blood, but just enough to leave small marks.
Tord was so focused on the mouth on his neck that he was almost neglecting his own motions and the heat pooling in his stomach. He tried to tell Tom that he was close, but only managed to moan out the Brit's name.
He could feel Tom smiling against his neck.
He tried again, this time getting his point across and moaning a pitiful "Close," and nothing more.
"I know," Tom whispered gruffly, his breath hot against the taught skin of Tord's neck. "Me too."
Tord shivered, struggling to maintain his rhythm as he felt the heat in his body rising. All noises that he managed to utter came out as pitiful mewls and whines, barely audible. Every time he rolled his hips, he'd clench a bit, causing involuntary moans that only egged Tom on.
Tord melted when Tom began thrusting on his own, strong hands holding the Norwegian's hips as he fucked into him. Tord's hand immediately clamped over his mouth, struggling to subdue his mewling. His breath hitched with every thrust, eyes closing as he felt himself coming undone.
He whimpered out Tom's name as he came, arching his back and gasping for air. His cock was trapped between their bodies, twitching pitifully as he released onto Tom's stomach. The Brit wasn't done yet, and took it upon himself to finish himself off. Tord's legs were trembling, and he was panting like a dog in heat as Tom drove himself into him. Tord's face was buried in the curve of Tom's neck, but the Brit didn't seem to like that.
"Come...h-here..." he growled, low and perfect. Tord knew what Tom meant. He lifted his head, struggling to fight off the end of his climax. He kissed Tom tenderly, unable to hold back the moans which flowed between their lips.
The norsk had long since stopped cumming, but Tom was drawing out the sensation, almost to the point of pain. He could handle it, he'd do almost anything to have Tom happy. Despite that, he thought he was going to overheat, his entire body burning with arousal.
Tom bit Tord's lip. It was gentle, but enough to get Tord's focus back on him.
Tom's thrusts slowed as he came, breathing heavily into their kiss as a gratifying heat filled Tord. This pushed him over the edge again, to both of their surprise, as Tord was cumming dry, legs shaking weakly as he kissed Tom. It almost hurt. He knew Tom could feel his rapid heartbeat against his chest, but he could care less. He just wanted to be as close to Tom as possible. They kissed for a moment more before they separated, Tord panting roughly as Tom reached for the box of tissues on the nightstand. Tord slowly sat up, the brit's length still inside as he moved to sit comfortably on Tom's hips. Tom took a few tissues and wiped off his stomach, along with his chest and hands. He did the same for Tord before moving to aid the overworked Norwegian.
Tom carefully pulled out, his cock falling lazily to the side as he supported Tord with both hands. He guided the taller man in lying down beside him, closer to the edge of the bed.
Tord's breath was still hitching, eyes shut. "Thank you, Thomas," he breathed, pulling up his boxers and closing his trembling legs. Tom tucked himself back into his boxers, smiling warmly at Tord.
Again, not his usual shit-eating grin, but an actual, genuine smile.
"Don't mention it," Tom laughed lightly, moving to hold Tord in a way that allowed him to gently card through the Norsk's hair. "You were right though...I've missed you."
"Really?" Tord breathed a sigh, feigning fatigue as Tom ran his hands through his hair.
The action was relaxing, of course - Tord loved having others play with his hair - but Tord had things to do now that he was done pining over Tom. It pained him to know that he would have to break from this embrace, so he relished Tom while his hand was still in Tord's hair and a smile was still on his face.
"Mm-hmm," Tom purred, his free hand laying lazily on his stomach. "I never thought I'd say it, but I'm kinda glad you're back."
Tord's eyes widened for a second before going lax again. He stared at the wall blankly, focusing on Tom's hand in his hair. His gaze traced up the picture frames on the wall, locking onto the all too familiar photograph of himself hanging on it. Why Tom had kept it was beyond him, but there it was, tilted slightly to the right since Tom was too lazy to fix it. Only Tord knew what was behind it - the reason he was back.
"It's great to be back." Tord mumbled, legitimately dozing off for a moment. Tom's touch was lulling him into a sleep faster than the constant rattling of the Army base ever could. Tom was sweet....intoxicating.
He was only this way when he was sober.
That was bittersweet to Tord. On one hand, it helped in hiding any sort of attraction since Tom was almost always drunk, but on the other hand, it meant Tord barely got to see this side of the Brit. Tord cherished every second of this, especially since he would be leaving soon.
"We still can't have the others know, though." Tom sighed, ending with a yawn. "They'd skin us alive."
Tord nodded absently, leaning his head on Tom's chest. Tord knew that Tom would inevitably drink all memory of this away. No, Tord didn't care. He didn't want anything from Tom. There was a short, comfortable silence before Tom spoke again.
"I don't think I'll be able to fall back asleep after that." He mumbled, his hand removing itself from Tord's hair. "I'm gonna go get a drink. Want anything?"
"If you're just getting Smirnoff, I think I'll pass."
"Suit yourself, commie."
Tom heaved himself from the bed with a tired groan. He took a few slow steps before glancing back at Tord. "Now that you're back, maybe we can be drinking buddies again. Just like old times, eh?"
Tord nodded, pasting on a smile. "Just like old times..."
Tom started to leave the room soon after, leaving Tord on the sheets alone with his thoughts.
The second the door closed behind Tom, however, Tord got to work.
He hopped up from the bed, thankful that it would take a while for Tom's scent to work him up again, making his way across the room. He didn't have much time before Tom came back with the bottle, and he knew that.
He grabbed ahold of the picture frame with both hands, accidentally breaking the string that held it up as he pulled it from the wall. The lever behind it was jammed from a few years of neglect and lack of oiling, but it went down regardless. The wall rose and collapsed into the ceiling like a garage door, hopefully silent enough to go unnoticed.
The lab behind the wall was just as Tord remembered, with the same mess from his last visit almost frozen in time.
Broken vials, torn papers, and dirty plates littered the floor and tables. The containment cell door was still torn open, blood splattering the floor right in front of it, just as he remembered it to be. Not that he wanted to remember.
"Tom, stop, please-!"
Tord's hands ghosted over the scars that remained from Tom's first attempt at escaping. The biggest of them stretched from his left hip, to his right shoulder - a perfect claw mark.
The Serum Experiment was conducted by Tord when he was still a soldier, the Norwegian opting to use Tom as the subject. It was a total failure, shut down by Tord's superiors once he was fatally wounded by the monster that Tom had become. They simply couldn't control the beast, and abandoned the project. They abandoned Tom with whatever hellish mutation the experiment had left him with.
Tord remembered how awful that had felt. He spent the night after injecting himself with everything he had tortured Tom with, taking notes on every heartbeat and sudden pain that arose. He left out the final two injections, finishing off with something completely new.
The agony that flowed from that needle was unimaginable.
His stomach had seized up, and he felt as if his organs were being dug out through his mouth, a burning pain clutching at his abdomen and seething in his veins. He had spent a long time in the med bay after that, demanding every painkiller the medic would let him have without overdose.
Then, just as it came, the pain stopped entirely after three days of delirious agony.
Tord carefully closed the lab's door, fully intending to stay there for the night. After all, Tom would come back too drunk to notice his disappearance. He didn't bother cleaning up yet, walking up the stairs to the containment cell's mangled door. He looked to his left, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the glass that held the fire extinguisher he had hit Tom with in attempt to ward him off.
He looked awful - wearing nothing but his boxers, flushed like a man who had just run a marathon. Six hickies were on his neck, only one on the right side. He looked away from his reflection, his face burning with embarrassment and shame.
"Oh, Thomas... What are you doing to me?"
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