word count: 12,773
prompt: future Tom x Tord
"ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ᴄᴏғғᴇᴇ, ᴛᴏᴏ." ᴛʜᴇ Norwegian mumbled lazily, eyes not flicking up to look at his lieutenant. Instead, his head remained low, down, looking at the papers assorted on his desk, eyes heavy with bore or tire; honestly, he didn't know the difference.
Another tonne of paperwork that had to be done sat patiently waiting on his desk; as if mocking him.
He let out a deep sigh, letting his forehead drop onto the deep spruce desk. He wasn't in a formal room having to sit with his back straight, so it was normal for him to act humanely and lazily when he wasn't in discussion with any other world or army leaders.
Tom nodded, his hands in his front pockets. "Right away, sir," he murmured, turning away as he left the room.
He returned with a coffee and a sandwich, his visor blinking. He placed it on the table in whatever empty place he could find.
"Is that all, sir?" he asked, head tilting as he crossed his arms. He blinked, waiting for the Red Leader's orders.
Please, for the love of god, don't ask him how he got into this mess.
The leader in front of the boy nodded his head, lifting himself up and leaning back in the leather chair.
"Dismissed." He mumbled, covering his face with his hands as he yawned, obviously tired.
He reached over for the sandwich, picking it up and eating at it slowly. Honestly, the fair-haired boy could fall asleep at anytime. No matter how hard he blinked or tried to keep his eyes open, they always fell back down, begging to close for a decent night's rest.
Too much paperwork. Far too much paperwork.
Tom backed up slightly, though stayed in the room. He paused for a moment, debating on how to form his sentence. Finally, he said, "Do you want me to do some of it?"
His shoulders tensed, half-expecting to receive a scolding for his nosiness. But, really, he couldn't help it. Tord looked damn exhausted, causing Tom to believe that the leader wouldn't finish it all without help. Of course, he avoided the word 'help'. Tord was probably too cocky for that.
Tord blinked, looking at Tom, chewing slowly. Finally, the words came out from his throat:
"Wouldn't you rather be in your room? You're dismissed. You have a free period, do you not?" Tord spoke, his words dragged and accent lazily thick.
Honestly, Tom's help would be appreciated, but Tord really didn't want to work Tom overtime.
"Do whatever pleases you, soldier." He mumbled again, picking up the black fountain pen that had lied on the desk, waiting for it to be used once more.
The leader placed his head in his palm, staring down at the paperwork, lazily signing them off.
Of course, he wasn't speaking formally with Tom. Not his strict tone, at least, when he was outside barking orders.
It was far softer, but not exactly 'gentle'. It still had bark, just not as much.
Tom let out a soft sigh, rolling his eyes. He grabbed an extra chair and pulled it up to Tord's desk. He paused, glancing up at Tord before grabbing an extra pen, taking some of the sheets. He opened his mouth, only to close it once more when he realized what he was about to say sounded hella gay.
Lame.
Instead, he said, "Of course I'll assist you. This stuff is a pain." He huffed slightly, internally thanking himself for learning how to forge Tord's signature long ago. He got to work, being sure to stay as silent as he could, not really wanting to annoy Tord.
It was probably the first rule of the whole base— don't piss off the Red Leader.
Tom's only average at that rule, but hey. He's still alive, so it doesn't really matter.
"Tom." Tord sighed, placing his pen down on the desk as he looked at Tom, eyes red and bloodshot.
"Go to your room. This isn't fun. I won't allow you to work overtime." He spoke sternly, pulling the spare pen away from Tom as he stared at the brit. "Please." He added, tired-- far too tired-- to deal with this. "Go rest. Go to the cafeteria, socialise." He suggested, keeping his voice somewhat formal.
Tom huffed, meeting Tord's gaze with narrowed eyes. "Sorry, sir, but you look like you're going to collapse from exhaustion. I should be the one telling you to go rest. Contrary to popular belief, having the leader pass out from lack of sleep does not set a good example."
Shit, he got a little salty there.
"Sorry," he mumbled, averting his eyes. "Really, sir. I can handle some extra work. It's better than doing nothing for the rest of the day." He shrugged, tapping his fingers against his leg.
"Contrary to popular belief," Tord spoke, "I do not like or wish to work my soldiers overtime, Thomas. I will be fine. Dismissed." He took the stack of paper back from Tom, placing it by his side and continuing to sign the forms, stilling for a moment.
"If you're so desperate for something to do," the fair-haired male said, "then go and check on how the soldiers are doing in the clinic for me. You are far more approachable than I am."
The Leader never took his eyes off of the page, signing it and placing it off into the stack he had finished reading, verifying and signing.
He was incredibly insistent on pushing Tom away from the documents. Maybe because he was afraid of Tom accidentally signing something wrong.
"After that duty, go to the cafeteria and ease yourself. You've been excelling in the tasks I give you. Thank you." He ended, obviously not leaving any space for argument, unless Tom wanted to tire Tord out more.
Though he doesn't show it, Tord appreciates what Tom does for him. And, it was true, Tom was excellent at all the tasks Tord gave him, always being able to organise and coordinate them properly. Whether it be from fear or what, Tord was never disappointed at what heights Tom could achieve.
Hell, he was proud. Maybe that was why he didn't mind how informal they talked in private.
Tom huffed in annoyance, standing up. "Right away, sir," he replied begrudgingly, finally walking out of the room.
God, did he hate Tord. The Norse looked like he was on the verge of passing out, yet he was still too arrogant to accept Tom's help.
Stupid commie.
He let out another huff to himself as he walked to the clinic, which took an astounding fifteen minutes because Tom didn't trust the damn elevators in this place.
When he learned of the soldiers physical stays, he rushed out as fast as he could to get back to Tord's office.
He gave a little knock, waiting for permission.
"Enter." The voice behind the office door spoke, no expression displayed on the Norwegian's lips as he blinked tiredly, hands resting and in pause of his signature writing.
When Tom entered, he let out a small Norwegian mumble as he rubbed his eye.
"Tell me straight, Tom. Cut the bullshit. What do you want from me? What do you want?" He looked at the Brit with a confused face, eyebrows furrowed and face scrunched as if he were looking through the harsh sunlight outside. "Don't you want to be in some other department? In the cafeteria? Your room? Reading a book? Drawing a hologram? Strumming your bass?" Tord questioned, formal attitude dropping completely just like his drooped shoulders and eyes; lazy.
What the hell did the boy want from him? The Norse was already satisfied, not to mention, Tom had already exceeded his expectations.
Tom flinched at the harsh words, eyes widening a bit. He quickly brushed it off, trying to return to his normal stance. However, his shoulders still tensed and he refused to meet Tord's gaze. "You... asked me to check on the soldiers in the clinic. I had just assumed you wanted a report." His clasped hands, which sat behind his back, became sweaty, causing him to internally curse.
Look— Tord was a scary person. When he got pissed, that usually meant a death sentence.
It was reasonable that Tom got nervous at the sudden drop of formal attitude.
Tord's eyes widened as he blinked, laughing gently as he rubbed his face.
"Right, sorry. Take a seat, do whatever you like. Didn't mean to say that so soon."
It was clear (to Tord, at least), that the Norwegian wasn't angry. He wasn't pissed, he was just confused. Tom always blew him away with how highly the Brit preformed, and so he was wondering as to why the boy had insisted earlier on helping the Norwegian.
He didn't need the assistance. He never did need assistance. He was born independent and had no choice in what type of things he wanted to do.
He was taught from a very young age that he was going to be a leader, and then his son would be the leader. No exceptions.
And if he did rebel, there'd be punishment. After one mistake, he learned, very quickly, to not make another.
For his mother's sake.
But that was a story for another time.
"So, how are they?" He asked tiredly, eyes moving back down to the document laid out before him.
Tom relaxed at the apology, moving to sit down. "Soldier 207 should pull over quickly. The gunshot wound missed her vital organs or blood vessels. She'll be back on the field in no time. Soldier 103 is fine as well. He only suffered a minor concussion from the explosion. Soldier 809, however... well, he is not going to pull through. The bullets struck vital organs— whoever shot him was a damn good shot." He wiped his hands on his pants. "Other than that, everyone got off scotch-free. The mission was successful, obviously." He nodded to himself, drumming his fingers against his leg. "Anything else, sir?"
Tord shook his head, listening to Tom as he signed off another paper.
He was more than halfway through the stack. Only ~250 pages left to go.
Tord moved his eyes up from off the signed paper, placing it to the side as his gaze tracked Tom's face, no expression on his own as he neutrally looked at Tom.
He wasn't saying anything. It didn't look like he was thinking, either.
The silver pupils just barely darted around, showing that he had just been observing Tom.
The same silver eyes that watched so many innocent people die. The same silver pupils that tortured the living fuck out of people.
He then sighed, eyes flickering back down at the pages.
Admittedly, between gossips through departments, people get terrified when they see Tord just stare, or observe them. It was as if you could see all the millions of souls he killed in the leader's eyes, most said, with each whispering hand pressing against the glass barrier of his eye.
"You never fail to impress me, Tom." He spoke out after a small bit of silence. "Thank you." He spoke more gently.
Telling Tom that he was dismissed again probably wouldn't mean anything to the Brit. So, the fair-haired male just kept reading and writing signatures over each perfectly square document.
When Tom caught Tord's gaze, he didn't think of what he should have. He didn't think of the pain, the killings, the genocide—
Nope.
The first thought that swept through him like a tidal wave was,
He has really pretty eyes.
Tom paused for a couple moments after that, taking the time to register what the fuck he just thought.
Oh, hell no.
"You're welcome, sir," he said, voice suddenly becoming drier as though he hated Tord. Normally, he could keep that away, but now, it had been done on purpose. A tiny blush crept onto his cheeks as he stood, rushing over to the door. He took a glance at Tord, eyes narrowed in an attempt to hide the pink. "Am I dismissed, sir?"
Oh, Jesus Christ, Tord would probably notice. He could probably mention the heat. Or— literally anything other than the fact that he thought something of Tord's was pretty. Because the Norse isn't pretty, or even good-looking. Not even those damn muscles or veiny arms or those stupid fucking rough lips could be considered good-looking.
Tord was ugly. Obviously.
He turned his head away a little bit, not wanting to meet Tord's gaze.
Tord gave one nod, sliding a paper off from the stack.
"Dismissed." He spoke verbally, not once looking at Tom.
His tired eyes were glued to the papers, words flying through his head randomly as he signed to disagree with the trading of goods.
Outside the office door stood a female soldier; somewhat of a rookie. She blinked nervously at Tom, who was just a tad taller than her.
Apart from meeting the Red Leader, meeting his lieutenant was the worst thing ever.
Both powerful men, in powerful positions. Who wouldn't get nervous?
Well, apart from the bartender in the cafeteria-- but, hey, he was an exception.
Tom gave the girl a gentle smile, easily telling the girl's nervousness. "How can I help you?" he asked sweetly, head tilting as he somewhat slouched. He made sure his eyes stayed on her — even if he was doing his best to make her feel a bit less nervous, he still had to be on his toes. Any suspicious move and he wouldn't hesitate to take her down. After all, that's why he had a gun in his holster.
She was right, though — Tom was powerful. Underestimating him just because he was shorter than average (shh, don't let Tom hear you saying that) usually resulted in death. Tom could beat the Red Army's best soldier with very little effort.
No wonder he was the lieutenant.
"I--uh, I'm sorry, sir-- I-- uh, I--I'm sorry for bothering you, but, there's kind of been, like..." she smiled nervously, letting out a very soft, awkward laugh. "There's been an accident on the, um, shooting grounds. Two-- two boy--soldiers, were, uhm, messing around, and there was an accident."
She was sweating profusely and was twiddling her thumbs behind her back out of pure nervousness.
Really, she didn't mean to stutter so much, nor did she mean to run into Tom so soon. She was headed for the clinic, but panicked, and, well, spilt the information to Tom.
Her caramel hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, and by how wet her shirt was, she had obviously training. Another obvious thing was that she wasn't expecting to meet the Brit.
Tom let out an annoyed sigh.
Another one bites the dust.
"Casualties or injuries? And what are their numbers?"
If you somehow didn't manage to catch it earlier, each soldier had a number. The lower your number is, the more important you are. Any soldier ranging from 1-100 was pretty damn important. Of course, that made the information pretty damn important for him to know. Anything above 100, then he'd just shoo the girl away, telling her that it wasn't their problem.
"I-injury, sir, and two-one-four and three-six-two." She felt a heat swipe over her neck as she felt like just collapsing into a corner and shrinking and not having to talk to the male in front of him.
Her voice grew softer towards the end of her sentence, shoulders scrunched up and head pulled back.
If she had been holding paper, you probably could have seen it shake.
Her eyes just barely glimpsed from the door the Brit had just left before glancing up at Tom again.
Admittedly, she was probably overreacting. Was this how every soldier felt when having to talk to Red Leader? Because what the fuck.
Tom sighed, nodding slowly. "Then you can let the doctors deal with that. I'll check on them later. Thank you for the information." He gave her another smile. "And, no need to be so nervous, soldier. I'm not the Red Leader. I can't fire you, let alone harm you. Telling me a simple report will not cause any damage to you or your status." He let out a soft laugh. "Of course, you can say you earned the lieutenant's approval. You'll do just fine in this army if you can calm your nerves."
Of course earning the lieutenant's approval would up the girl's reputation. It would be in her best interest to accept his offer — after all, people tend to be ruthless to the newbies. Besides, they didn't have to worry about her lying.
Everyone knows, even the rookies, not to spread rumors about the higher-ups. That shit would be a death sentence.
She laughed, scratching the back of her neck.
"Th-thank you, sir." She smiled back at him, quickly slipping past him to the clinic.
Sigh. Rookies.
A soldier laughed from a little way from the Brit, hands shoved in his pockets.
"I've never seen someone so nervous." He spoke smoothly, number reading 062. "Poor girl."
Don. He was known for his mechanic skills, and was the head for engineering department.
He gave Tom a warm nod, smiling at the boy.
Of course, the jet-black haired man towered over him. He wasn't exactly as tall as Tord, and definitely wasn't lean-- he was lanky, and with such pale skin people nicknamed him 'toothpick'.
"How are you, sir?" He asked, keeping his voice gentle to not get on Tom's bad side.
Tom nodded back. "I'm well," he replied simply, eyes moving back to the where the girl had fled. "Poor girl," he parroted with a slow nod, his smile wiping off his face. "If she doesn't learn how to behave, she'll be devoured in no time." He looked back at Don, hands in his pockets. "No need for formalities. You may call me Tom, if you'd like." He gave Don a quick smile, which soon disappeared.
He really did hate formalities. To him, he was just Tom. He'd prefer if it was that way for everyone, but... he'd only reserve that privilege for people that were trustworthy.
"Yeah, she will." Don sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "What's Tord up to now? Saw you pop into the clinic with the most sour look just before." He raised a brow, shifting his weight onto his left hip, blinking at the boy. "Red doesn't tend to work soldiers overtime, and from what I know, you're usually off on these times. What's up?" He puzzled.
Tom rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "He's quite literally drowning in paperwork at the moment." He let out an annoyed huff. "The little shit won't let me help even though he looks like he's about to collapse." Yet another huff. "He sent me to the clinic in an attempt to get me out of his hair. I was going to offer to help again, but..." Tom paused, a slight blush creeping up his neck. "I decided it would be useless. He's as stubborn as a mule."
"Aye? Who's this?" Don laughed, hands now moving to his waist. "Where's the Tom I used to know? The one who always tried to stay out of anything Tord told him to do? You've gone from refusing to breathe the same air as him to getting upset because you couldn't help 'im." The male in black laughed, sighing gently. "Well, he is stubborn, I'll give you that much. I'm not surprised that he's sleep deprived." He shook his head. "Feel bad for him, honestly. One day he has to deal with newbies injuring their arm 'cause 'ey don't know how to fire properly and the other with paperwork." Don smiled. "You've been visitin' the bar a lot less lately, in the caf. You good?"
Tom blinked up at Don in slight surprise.
Had he? He didn't even notice.
"I'm fine," he said with a nod. "Stuff's been crazy around the base, is all. Especially after that new mission we managed to pull off." Tom lifted his chin, expression turning into a more condescending one. "We've got a real nasty sniper on our hands. With three bullets, they hit three of 803's vital organs. Not to mention, from outside the building they were in. We don't even know how it happened." Finally, he lowered his head, returning to a normal position. "It's getting me pissy. How the hell have we not seen this sniper before? They don't even got a similar M.O. to any other snipers." He sniffed indignantly. "Sorry, I'm rambling."
Don let out a hum, shrugging. "Well, once we catch 'im, Red's gonna give him a thorough beating, tell ya that much." The boy laughed, nodding once more. "Alright, I've gotta get goin'. 'Lyssa's gonna get pissed." He smiled, walking past and down the hallway.
Tom nodded, but didn't bother to say anything to the fleeting figure. He took a glance at Tord's door before shaking his head.
He'd check on Tord during his shift.
The next morning, Tom knocked on Tord's door, holding a black coffee for the Norse. That's how every morning usually started— either that, or he was forced to go all the way down and make coffee or tea. Whichever Tord was in the mood for. Of course, this time, he brought coffee. There was no doubt that Tord had a late night.
"Come in, Tom." Tord spoke from the other side.
When Tom opened the door, Tord was standing up, behind his leather seat and looking out the window, arms crossed over his bare chest, a towel hanging from one shoulder. He didn't move as the Brit walked in, letting out a gently sigh as he yawned, wiping his face with the white towel before nodding at the boy.
"Morning." He greeted tiredly, black jeans clinging to his waist as he blinked tiredly at the boy, shirtless, hair wet: the Norse probably exercised last night and had a shower just this morning. "Apologies for my impracticality."
Tom looked away, holding out the coffee for Tord. "You're fine," he mumbled, other hand tapping against his leg. "Two idiots got themselves hurt on the shooting ground. They both should recover, but I thought you would like to know." Tom shrugged slightly. "Did you get the paperwork done?"
Tom silently cursed his mechanical eyes. Because of them, if he tried to stare at Tord's lean chest, he'd be caught.
Damn. He missed his black eyes.
Tord nodded, taking the coffee and downing it quickly.
"Thank you." He spoke as he set down the half-empty mug onto the desk, leaning one hand against it as he looked at Tom's features.
"I don't think I have anything else to do today. Train with me?" Tord offered with a small laugh, sighing gently as he walked over to his dresser, pulling the first board open and slipping a red turtleneck on. "Nah, I won't force you."
It fit snugly around the leader's lean figure, exposing the perfect upside down triangle of his body.
"Join me for breakfast? I never walk to the cafeteria anymore, and I don't want to have to straighten out another fight." Tord spoke gently, blinking at Tom with soft eyes, pulling out his navy overcoat and pulling it on, straightening his sharp and broad shoulders.
He walked towards the door, picking up the coffee and downing the rest in small sips. He looked back at his lieutenant, tilting his head, awaiting an answer.
Tom blinked at Tord, tilting his head. "Sure." He gave the Red Leader a short smile, moving to follow Tord. "And you know I'm fine with training with you. You might beat me every time, but it's good training." He shrugged as they exited the room, a step behind Tord.
Besides, it would be fun to see Tord shirtless and not have to look away. Though it did kind of suck, because Tom had to keep his shirt on for... reasons.
Piercings are embarrassing, okay?
But that's not important. He would love to train with Tord, even if it did make him ache.
"Then I can help you train, too. You're pretty strong already, I don't think there is much to teach you." Tord laughed gently, straightening his posture and pulling his shoulders back just a bit. "After all this time of you being my lieutenant and yet I've never had a breakfast with you." Tord spoke gently, keeping his head straight and focused forwards, heading towards the cafeteria.
As Tord entered the cafeteria, all the soldiers' eyes widened, immediately scrambling to sit straight and salute.
The leader's eyes scanned over the ocean of navy uniforms, walking past.
Everything was silent. So silent, in fact, the only thing echoing throughout the large, large room was his and Tom's footsteps against the marble floor.
The Norse walked towards a seperate room, to the more exclusive and important area. There were a couple soldiers, who, even they (after being so familiar with the army), still saluted and straightened their backs.
Because the thing was that: All soldiers never speak to Tord unless absolutely necessary. He was rarely seen out of his office, unless he was barking orders.
Tord seated himself in a table to the corner of the room, motioning for Tom to sit, too. He crossed his arms over his chest as he somewhat slouched in his chair, tired.
Immediately, the waitress came dashing over, giving a small bow before asking the two of them what they'd like to eat.
"Salad, thank you." Tord spoke, blinking at her without an expression. She visibly shrunk, terrified of him. The waitress moved her gaze over to Tom, asking him, too.
Tom gave her a gentle smile in an attempt to calm her nerves. "Scrambled eggs, please," he told her in a soft voice.
Honestly? He hated that everyone was scared of him. They weren't scared of him because of what he'd done himself— they were scared because he was nearly on the same level as Tord.
Disgusting.
He gave her a short nod before turning his head back to Tord, smile falling. He opened his mouth to speak, only to decide against it. Instead, he watched Tord, tilting his head with curious eyes.
Tord looked back at Tom, raising an eyebrow as he followed Tom's action, tilting his head in the same direction.
The waitress nodded curtly, rushing back to the chef station.
The Norwegian blinked at Tom, setting his hands onto the table as he leaned forward, getting closer to Tom as he held the action, not saying a word.
To say the least, the soldiers were taken aback. They hadn't ever seen Red be so childish as to tilt his head.
Tom must've been special.
In a moment or so, they went back to chatting among themselves, organising appointments and trades and collaborations between the departments.
"What?" Tord spoke gently, keeping his voice low.
Tom finally looked away, a little bit spooked at the 'staring contest' they had. "Nothing," he muttered, eyes on the table. "Sometimes I forget that you—" Tom narrowed his eyes. "Sometimes I forget that you..." He huffed. "You know what? Nevermind. It doesn't matter."
Still, he didn't look at Tord. Meeting the Norwegian's gaze would probably make Tom freak the fuck out. He wasn't really good in social situations, especially with someone as untrustworthy as Tord.
Damn communist.
Tord sighed, fixing his head back straight as he smiled, shaking his head slowly.
"Anything that comes out of your mouth is important. Inform me, please, of what you forget about me." He spoke gently, smiling smugly as he tapped his fingers on the table.
Not a moment later, the waitress quickly served the both of them, disappearing back quickly for another order.
Wow, that was hella fucking fast.
Of course, it was expected. Leader's needs over all.
He took a glimpse down at his salad, then back up at Tom, intrigued.
"I forget—" His eyes narrowed slightly, eyes flickering up at Tord. "—that you have to keep your reputation. Me telling you to be kinder to your soldiers would be ultimately useless. So, like I said, it doesn't matter." His voice stayed quiet, only loud enough for Tord to hear. He huffed slightly, taking a bite of his eggs.
Hopefully Tord wouldn't get pissy at him because of the sudden change of attitude. Of course, that didn't change his opinion— Tord was a dick to his soldiers and scared them all the time.
"Of course, being nice to them would probably just be an act," he mumbled incoherently, voice not even a whisper. The comment would, most likely, be unheard.
Tord's eyes widened in surprise— a pleasant surprise, as he looked at Tom.
"I never knew your visor displays when you blush." Tord let out a small laugh, picking up the fork and stuffing his mouth with lettuce leaves and tomatoes and whatever else. Once he swallowed, he added: 'I wonder what else it displays'. He chuckled, taking another mouthful of salad onto his fork.
Tom's eyes widened and he quickly said, "It does what?"
Oh, boy, he was going to have a 'talk' with whoever built his damn visors. Probably Don.
He looked down at his plate, his blush worsening as he took a bite.
However, Tord's question most definitely spiked interest in Tom. What else does it show? Hell, how did it even show that he was blushing? Surely his red cheeks did that just fine. How the hell did it even work?
"Fucking Don," he hissed to himself, eating rather quickly.
Tord snickered to himself, eating slowly, enjoying Tom's embarrassment.
"Yeah, they show when you're blushing." Tord shook his head gently. "Don is impeccably intelligent." He spoke gently, taking another bite from his salad, just observing Tom's behaviour.
What kind of things would it react to?
Crying? Jealousy? Happiness? Anger?
Don had told Tord that it reacted overall on Tom's body temperature and what the brain tells Tom to feel, paired with the sight thing.
"There's even a percentage on the bottom left. It's at twenty-four right now. Must be how hard you're blushing." Tord snickered to himself again, finishing off his salad.
Tom lifted one hand up to the bottom left of his visor, covering it. He let out a silent curse. "Intelligent, yes, but with no apparent knowledge of privacy," he hissed, looking down at his eggs. He took a last bite— he had been shoveling it into his mouth in an attempt to hide his blushing face.
It didn't really work.
Oh— oh, god.
He froze for a moment, eyes widening as his hand slipped away from his visor.
How the hell would it react to when they trained together? After all, seeing Tord shirtless is bound to make him flustered. Hell, even thinking about it made him blush even more.
This was stupid.
He looked down, refusing to meet Tord's gaze.
Tord laughed more, finishing off his salad.
"Sixty-five percent. Are you okay, Thomas?" The Norwegian asked with a grin on his face, standing up and tucking his chair in as he watched the boy, letting his hands cross behind his back as he chuckled. "It's going up. Come, we'll go to the training grounds." He hummed, the waitress quickly coming and packing away their dishes, moving back to her station.
Tord's eyes were steadily on Tom.
The soldiers were bewildered. They had never seen Tord smile so much. Wow.
Tom huffed, standing and pushing his chair in. "Whatever, I'm fine," he hissed, beginning to move toward the training grounds. "You don't have to state it like it's a fact. Just ignore it." His lips curled up into a sneer. "How the hell does it even show you? I mean, nothing is different for me." He reached a hand up and gently touched his visor as the two walked.
Honestly? Tom wanted to just... jump off a cliff, preferably. How the hell did he not know about this before? It's unbelievably dumb.
Tord shrugged, dropping his smile as he walked towards the gymnasium.
Once they were in private, Tord pulled his shirt off, revealing his lean, built and chiseled figure.
He cracked his knuckles, cracking his neck and loosening up his muscles, stretching them out first.
He walked over to Tom when he was done with the mini warm-up, resting his hands on his waist as he looked at Tom.
"Alright, what do we work on? Defense?" Tord asked, raising an eyebrow as he slouched slightly, the heater warming up the room to keep their muscles soft and malleable all throughout the session.
Tom nodded. "Defense is good." He shed his vest and rolled up his sleeves (damn, did he look good). He got into his stance before looking at Tord with a tilted head. "Who's going first?" he asked simply, sizing Tord up.
Obviously, he knew he wasn't going to win. He'd put up a fight, but Tord would have him pinned down in no time at all.
Not that he minded, of course.
His eyes searched Tord for any sudden movements— he knew the Norwegian well enough to realize that he might not answer. Instead, he might just attack Tom right away.
Good practice.
Tord let out a hum, in thought.
"Alright, here. Just hit me and I'll see how you can improve it." Tord got into his own stance, keeping his legs apart and in a stable position, ready to act on reflex.
But, of course, he was just going to stand still, to see how hard Tom could hit.
"Take your anger out on me." He added, encouraging the Brit to hit him as if the Norse was a punching bag. "Just as a first warm-up thing."
Tom nodded in agreement, staying still for a couple moments.
Some people might assume that Tom would 'go easy' on Tord— that he'd hold back his punches, even if the Norse was stronger than him. After all, who wanted to hurt the Red Leader?
Well, I'll give you a hint.
His name is Tom. ( + Sunflower)
The Brit was coming after Tord without anymore hesitation— he slammed his fist into Tord's cheek, not really realizing he was doing so because it would cause the least damage.
Whoops.
Tord stopped Tom's fist before it reached his face, sighing.
"Chest, Tom, not my face." He laughed gently, releasing Tom's hand. "Good power so far." He hummed gently, a smile on his face as he waited patiently for Tom to correct his mistake.
Tord had the reflexes of a fucking God. Like, Christ, Tom's fist was faster than any other soldier's, and yet he still caught it.
Tom pouted like a child. "Damn, I didn't even get a chance." He grinned up at Tord, giggling.
Like, actually giggling.
Of course, he backed up again, still smiling like an idiot.
He looked Tord up and down once more before coming at the Norse again, fist going straight for the Norse's chest. Hopefully, if Tom was lucky, it would knock the air out of Tord. Then again, it had been a long time since they trained together.
Tom could really only hope he had a chance against Tord.
The Norse stood there and took the punch, completely unaffected except for a small lean back.
He had learnt how to flex nearly all his muscles so that he could withstand punches and perhaps even hits with a gun.
He let out a hum as he analysed Tom's posture and everything.
"Don't lean forwards so much. You don't want to tumble onto me if I had fallen backwards." He explained, looking at Tom's stance. "Your stance when you punch is good, but during the recovery—" The Norse cut himself off by suddenly and hastily swiping his feet under and across Tom's, catching his waist and pulling him back from falling and slipping completely. "—you focus too much on hitting me again rather than fixing your stance and then hitting me." Tord spoke, releasing his hands from Tom's waist.
Sure, it had been a while, but it was fun and refreshing for Tord. To finally have someone that was at least good and lasted than watching the newbies horribly fight.
"You're quick, which is good, more power." He explained again. "And you know how to lead it through. Your main criticism is your support." The Norse spoke, suddenly pushing Tom down, leading the fall with his left and pushing at Tom's left shoulder before pinning him down to the soft, cushioned matts underneath.
He let out a small chuckle.
"You're definitely better than the last time we trained. Let's just fuck around and have fun." Tord grinned, knowing Tom could push the Norse off and climb on top of him instead.
It wasn't really going to be a huge training session— just a 'get on top' wrestling thing.
Tom let out a huff, glaring up at Tord. For a split second, the little percentage at the bottom of his screen flashed—
A thirty-two percent. Not too much, but noticeable.
Before a good look could be earned, Tom lifted his leg up and kneed Tord's stomach, hands finding the Norwegian's shoulders as he shoved. Of course, he followed Tord, one hand slipping down to find Tord's hands, gripping the wrists tight as he wrestled Tord to the ground, pressing the hands against the Norwegian's throat.
His little percentage had disappeared, but now he was pretty much straddling Tord with a smug grin.
"Not yet steady, Tom." Tord laughed as he simply just rolled over, pushing his hands forwards during the roll because he knew it'd somewhat surprise the Brit, giving him an advantage as he grabbed Tom's hands and pushed them against the boy's chest, centering his weight on the Brit's so it'd make it difficult for the boy to push the Norse over.
The Norse paid close attention to the small percentage whilst also keeping a close eye on Tom, smiling.
Naturally, the percentage was slowly ticking up as Tom struggled to escape. His eyes narrowed as he tried to pull his hands away from Tord. He let out a growl of dissatisfaction, cheeks becoming a bit pink as he attempted to fight back. As the percentage slowly ticked up to the sixties, Tom decided that he had enough.
"Fucking hell, fine. Mercy. I give in. Just— get off of me," he hissed, still squirming in Tord's grip. "You're cutting off my damn air flow." He glared up at Tord, clenching his teeth.
Still, the percentage just kept going up and up.
Tord chuckled gently, removing his hands from the boy's', sighing gently as he still planked over Tom, a smug grin on his face.
"So soon?" He raised a brow. "You're probably tired, hm?" He spoke gently, hands as either side of Tom's face, face pink from the exercise.
Oh boy, could that be lewd.
The Norse watched as the percentage slowly ticked up, licking his lips as he grinned.
The percentage shot up rather quickly— whether it was caused by Tord licking his lips or the insult, he didn't know. Tom's eyes narrowed and his hands found Tord's wrists, glaring up at the Norse with a surprising amount of malice. "I'm not tired, but I physically could not get out of that." He sniffed indignantly. "I'm not a big person. Contrary to popular belief, wrestling is not my forte." He rolled his eyes as he slid out from under Tord, using the Norwegian's steady hands to push himself away.
He looked down at the ground, just barely panting as he refused to meet Tord's gaze. He closed his eyes and took a couple deep breaths, his percentage finally going down.
"You're a dick," he muttered, sitting up.
"I have one, would you like to meet it?" Tord laughed, grinning. "What are you thinking about, hm?" Tord asked, an eyebrow raising as he stood, walking over to the towels, wiping the sweat from his neck and forehead.
"Do you have anything you need to do today?" He asked, leaning back against the wall as he went into a sitting position; wall sitting.
"I'm thinking about homicide," Tom muttered under his breath before looking up at Tord.
Oh, damn, sweaty Tord was hot.
He looked away, discarding the thought as soon as possible.
"Other than lounge around? Nope," he replied, popping the 'p'. He always did when he was embarrassed, if Tord ever noticed. "Why? Do you need me for something?" he asked, his breaths calming as he stood.
"No, just asking." Tord shrugged, smiling gently as he sighed. "I should be out in one of the departments checking but I believe they've got themselves organised. Maybe I should go downstairs." He spoke with a light-hearted tone.
Downstairs.
The chambers.
"I just don't feel that aggravated today, though." He hummed.
This was vastly different than the other semi-formal Tord. This must've been him completely relaxed.
Tom nodded curtly. "Fair enough," he said, not bothering to give Tord anything else. He moved over and grabbed his vest, slipping it on. Then, he rolled down his sleeves and brought his hands up for a stretch.
"Want to watch a movie or something?" Tom asked without thinking, back cracking as he stretched. He turned to peer at Tord with the same green, virtual eyes.
Tord blinked, looking back at Tom.
"Alright," Tord nodded slowly, standing back up from his sit-up, "What do you want to watch?" Tord asked, pulling on his turtleneck after switching it inside out, getting it the right way round and pulling on his navy coat.
The Norwegian was rather charming. Even with all the scars running down the right side of his face.
They had all nearly healed; turning a lighter shade of his skin colour. He stretched.
He moved so that he exited the smaller, private gym room, not taking a glance back at Tom to see if the boy had been following.
He lead the Brit to the Norse's room; nodding at all soldiers walking past with a stern look, stopping in front of the door to his room (which had been hidden).
Suddenly, the walls shifted and he was entered in.
Security. Of course.
He moved over to the computer, sitting down on the king-sized bed and sighing gently, pulling off his coat yet again.
He looked up at Tom, giving him a small smile as the computer turned on, nodding his head into the space next to himself, encouraging the boy to sit there.
'
Tom nodded back out of habit, moving to settle down on the bed. He sat with his knees in front of him and his feet dangling off the bed (he had shoes on and he'd feel bad if he got Tord's bed dirty).
"Maybe we should watch some Marvel movie." Tom shrugged, cracking his knuckles as he looked at Tord with a tilted head. "I mean, I haven't watched a lot of them, and I've been meaning to." He shrugged once more, blinking at Tord.
"I might do a little work here and there." Tord spoke, sighing through his words.
He pulled up the website and handed his computer over to Tom, slipping off his boots and rolling over in the bed, yawning as he pushed his face into the pillows, outstretching his arms into a starfish shape.
He moved his head so that his cheek was now pressed against the pillow. Looking to his desk and seeing that there was no paperwork, he desperately tried to think of anything else he needed to do, but failed.
"I don't think I have any other work." Tord mumbled as he sat up, scratching his head as he looked over to Tom.
"Picked one yet?"
Tom nodded with a hum. "Ant-Man. It's where I left off." He titled the screen a bit so Tord could get a better look. "Guy can change his size and control ants, I think. But don't quote me on it." Tom shrugged, looking up at Tord with a tilted head. "Don't know anything else about it, though." He returned his head to the screen and moved the laptop so it was in the center. He pressed play, leaning back slightly.
Halfway through the movie, Tord was asleep.
His head fell gently onto Tom's shoulder, eyes closed with his arms crossed over his chest.
His face was gentle; soft and meaning no harm. As if he hadn't killed a single soul.
His chest rose and fell slowly, no sound of a snore coming from his neck or nose.
Had the movie been that boring?
No, not really. Tord just wasn't a movie person, nor did he have much sleep as a leader. It was bound to happen.
Tom's heart fluttered. He smiled down at Tord, face becoming pink. His eyes flickered toward the movie, sucking in a quiet breath.
He could either let it finish playing and leave Tord, or he could fall asleep, too.
He glanced back down at Tord, debating between the pros and cons.
Pros for the first choice? No backlash if Tord didn't really like Tom. Cons? Well, he wouldn't be able to... uh... there weren't really any cons, actually. He'd just miss the opportunity to actually sleep, literally, with Tord.
Pros for the second choice? Well, he'd get to sleep with Tord. He'd actually know if Tord was disgusted by his existence. Cons? Well, backlash, and, you know, possible death sentence.
Eh, you know what they say. Eso ci que es. He'd had to live by the role of socks.
He let the movie continue to play, but let his eyes close and rested his head against Tord's.
In a few quick minutes, Tom was fast asleep against Tord's soft hair.
As the Norse's eyes fluttered open, he shifted his head gently, looking at the thing that had fallen on his shoulder.
Tom's head was rested against it; chest rising and falling gently.
The Norwegian blinked, cheeks pinking as he sighed gently, pulling the laptop off of Tom's lap and placing it to the side of the bed, moving his arm around Tom's shoulder and pulling him closer.
He pulled the laptop back onto his lap, typing away fluently with one hand.
Ninety-six words per minute, fluent. Though, you'd expect that, because of how long he's had to deal with a lonesome computer in his office and write emails back to people.
A quick glance outside and a sigh escaped his lips.
Freckles of white danced their way slowly towards the ground, sometimes sticking on the room's windows.
He'd have to go outside to train with the soldiers today. Ugh.
He made sure to keep his typing relatively slow in order to not create any sudden or jagged shoulder movements to wake Tom up. His poor lieutenant might as well have needed it; Tord usually set some pretty mundane and boring tasks for the boy that probably drained his energy.
The Norwegian made sure the Brit wasn't cold. He'd hate for the boy to wake so soon.
Tom stirred in his sleep, letting out a soft noise. Nothing sexual, seriously. He wrapped his arms around Tord's chest and snuggled into the heat source. He pressed himself against Tord, face hiding. Though, it was obvious he wasn't awake— no light or heat came from his visor.
Still, as he cuddled into Tord, he was acting pretty damn adorable. Waking the boy up would probably result in a blushing mess, too.
The wind outside howled, blowing away all the snowflakes with it.
Tord smiled gently, moving his hand up to the boy's hair as he ran his fingers through the soft, brunet fields.
The computer's light was dimmed, Tord scrolling to open a new tab and type in whatever. Work was lame as hell.
After a little while, as the clock kept ticking, Tord let out a gentle yawn.
He looked down at the Brit, massaging the boy's scalp.
"Thomas~" He cooed gently. "Wake up, it's time for school." Tord grinned, wondering what the Brit's reaction would be.
No harm done.
It took a moment, but Tom's visor flickered to life. He began to unwrap his arms from around Tord, pulling away as he let out a soft murmur of, "Tord?"
Oh. Oh, damn, that was adorable, especially considering that Tom really only called him sir or Red Leader.
He shook his head slightly, actually waking up. He took a glance around the room, and —
Immediately, the percentage on his screen shot up to sixty-seven percent. His face became red and he ducked his head down, silently cursing himself.
"Sorry... I— I didn't mean to— I didn't mean to fall asleep," he stammered, cheeks burning with shame.
Okay, total lie, but he didn't mean to latch onto Tord.
"It's alright." Tord spoke gently, closing his laptop and placing it to the side, offering Tom a small, barely visible smile. "Did you enjoy your rest?" He asked gently, still lying in his bed with his feet tucked under the blanket, arms crossed over his chest now.
Tord's cheeks pinked at hearing his name on Tom's tongue. God, it had been so long since someone had called him 'Tord'— it was nice hearing it. Especially when it came from Tom.
The way the Brit spoke his name. For some reason, he loved it. He loved it so much.
His cheeks lost their vibrance as he stared at Tom, scanning the boy up and down and observing him.
Tom scrambled up into a sitting position, resting on his knees with his hands in between them. He still didn't look up at Tord as he nodded. "Yes, sir," he mumbled out, the percentage ticking higher and higher.
Honestly? Tom was humiliated. Like, seriously, who the fuck cuddles their boss in their sleep? He does, apparently.
He moved one hand up to scratch the back of his neck, eyes flickering up at Tord.
"Did you... did you enjoy yours, sir?" Tom squeaked out, still trying to act like an underling through the embarrassment.
Tord laughed gently, sighing afterwards.
"Yes, I did, soldier. Thank you." He let out a huff of laughter, closing his eyes as he rested his head back against the pillow. "You're very cuddly." He commented, staying in that position for a bit before moving up and off the bed, stretching.
"Come." He spoke gently, walking over to Tom and running a hand through the boy's hair, picking up his boots and quickly slipping them on. "Help me train the soldiers."
Then, he walked out the door, navy coat in hand as he expected Tom to follow.
Tom scrambled off the bed, rushing to follow Tord. Luckily, he had kept everything on.
Still, heat radiated off of Tom's face. He hadn't really expected Tord to run a hand through his hair. Well, that's, like, a really gay action, isn't it?
You know what? Let's not overthink it.
Tom's red cheeks began to finally calm down as he followed Tord, letting out a slight sigh of relief.
"Why are we training the soldiers?" Tom asked, voice laced with obvious curiosity.
"Snow day." Tord replied quickly, slipping on the navy coat as he straightened his posture, returning to "normal" Tord. "We've got to get them used to the conditions."
He cracked his knuckles, then his neck as they walked, eyes sharp and posture perfect. He had to be like this, always.
Because the second his soldiers lost fear in him, he would no longer have control.
Hastily skimming toward the training grounds, he pulled out a small device from his breast pocket, talking into it— in Norwegian, of course.
Something about Paul.
A small moment later, two groups came in. They weren't the primary soldiers, of course. They were the more newer ones.
Strange. Tord never usually trained the rookies, rather, the more experienced of the soldiers.
Why? Well, violence.
"Fifty laps."
The two words escaped his mouth and the soldiers were already at it— rushing to run the laps around the field.
They were pawns under his control. Only pawns.
He watched as they all ran around, the leading soldier was a girl— her caramel hair tied back into a slick, tight ponytail. She was fairly short— and from what it seemed, she was the same girl that was quivering under Tom's gentle gaze just before.
She really was more than what met the eye. Never judge a book by its cover.
The Leader walked over to the running group, standing more close towards a curve they had to pass as he watched over them like a hawk; picking up any sweat or nervousness from any of them.
He then looked at Tom, glare softening. He quickly changed back to staring at all of them.
Tom couldn't help the gentle smile that took place on his lips. A bit of pride flooded his veins at the girl in the lead.
Like he said— if she got rid of that nervousness, she'd be just fine.
Then again, he could probably understand her nervousness. His first few weeks here felt like he was treading on glass-covered floor— one wrong move and he'd bleed.
At the memory, he sneered, standing up straighter with his shoulders held back.
Still, he watched the soldiers with vague interest.
After watching the soldiers work tirelessly, they all came back, the girl drenched in sweat, though, she still kept her head high.
Tord had pulled over one guy. Bleach white hair, a little fat.
Poor guy.
The leader pulled him up in front of the rest, keeping him beside the Norse as he looked over the wave of people.
They were all lined again; panting heavily and drenched in sweat.
Suddenly, a sickening crack filled the silence, and all the panting and breaths stopped.
The guy suddenly screamed, yelled— he grabbed his knee as he fell to the ground, tears streaming down his face as he cried in pain, in desperation for his displaced knee to suddenly return itself back into its position.
The leader didn't once take his eyes off of the crowd. Never once did he look at the bleach-haired boy.
Then, he pulled out a simple pistol from the back of his pocket, looking to the side briefly to place the single shot in the man's head, the screaming silencing as blood splattered on his creaseless, navy coat.
His eyes were dead cold on every single person. No one made a single sound, eyes widened as they all stared at the leader.
He placed his gun back into his holster, hands moving behind him to hold his own wrist, face completely neutral.
"I will not accept slacking behaviour. Slip and you will be eliminated." Red spoke without expression, moving towards the gun rack most of them had eyed before and pulling another, smaller pistol from it.
"You will be practicing aim today. I won't tolerate stupid behaviour, so listen." He growled at them all, walking towards Mia, the caramel haired girl.
She swallowed hard, trying her best not to cower down as Tord looked at her, placing the gun in her hands.
She froze, stopped completely as Tord's pupils landed on hers. She stopped blinking, breathing, moving, anything.
Her hands wrapped around the gun, and Tord released his grip from it, walking towards the gun rack once more.
As the soldiers did as they were told, the fair-haired boy let out a sigh through his nose, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against one of the back walls, watching over all of them with a keen eye.
Tord was fucking terrifying when he was training soldiers.
Tom hadn't even flinched. He was too used to Tord's antics.
He cleared his throat, eyes flickering over to Tord. "The Japanese girl would be a great asset if she wasn't so panicky," he murmured, keeping his voice soft so only Tord could hear him. "I talked to her this morning. She's almost as bad as I was." He laughed gently, hands behind his back.
"Yeah? All fidgety? Sweat-y?" Tord let out a huff of laughter, keeping his voice low, too. "Blush-y? What a shame." He mumbled, eyes flickering over to the caramel-haired girl.
"Her body tells me a lot." Tord spoke. "She's got a lot of lower and upper body strength. She'll excel at running, swimming, climbing, anything of the sort. Her aim is alright." He commented, watching as she struggled to reload the gun. "Her position would most probably be a spy. She's small and slim, again, lots of strength..." the leader trailed off, eyes narrowing slightly. "Go and help her, would you? I've got to deal with this blonde kid."
And with that, Tord was off, moving towards one of the soldiers— a tall guy, lanky, shoving his friend.
With a single knock of the butt of the Norse's shotgun, he was out cold, the intimidating leader glaring at the boy's friend, who fumbled to reload his gun, eventually getting it a second later.
Tom snickered at that before walking over to Mia. He gave her shoulder a gentle tap and a soft smile before pulling out his own gun. "Hey, watch this," he murmured sweetly, quickly reloading his gun before unloading it. "Not as simple as it looks, right?" he asked with a gentle chuckle. He went through it once more, this time slower with instructions. Then, he blinked down at her with a tilted head. "Do you wanna try? Don't worry about messing up," he said with a nod.
The girl blushed, laughing nervously as she watched carefully, slowly doing it herself on her first go.
"Ahh, arigato!" She grinned, bowing gently out of habit. "I— uhm, sorry, thank you." She smiled brightly, moving back into her position before firing, the gun's recoil hitting her a bit too hard as she stumbled back just a step, flushing a pink again as she reloaded once more.
Dealing with Tom was far, far, far more stress-free than dealing with... Red Leader.
She had a slightly off position— her legs were a little too close together for firing.
Tord was watching from afar, hawk eyes on the two of them as he looked straight back at the rest of the soldiers on his side, walking up and down the array of soldiers lined up and firing.
It was cold, and most were shivering. Some nearly slipped on the icy ground.
Tord left all the tutoring to Tom. He was far more approachable and understanding than what Tord was capable of being.
"Dōitashimashite," he responded with a chuckle, patting the girl's shoulder.
Hey, so what? He tried to learn as many languages as possible. For diplomatic purposes, of course.
"You might want to fix your footing— don't be so close together. Your feet should be a bit wider." He tilted his head as he smiled down at her.
He scanned her up and down, blinking.
"You seem a bit less nervous than last time, which is good." He tapped his fingers against his leg.
"Ah, yes, sir. It is because I'm very tired." She laughed, scratching the back of her head as she took his advice, spreading her legs wider as he reloaded, shot again, no recoil hitting her back.
As she smiled, her gaze was directed upwards, the smile falling from his lips suddenly as her eyes widened, her flushed cheeks paling as she swallowed, quickly looking back down to her gun as she reloaded, shooting and trying to ignore the large presence behind the kind Brit.
"You're spending an awful amount of time with her." The deep, accented voice came from behind Tom, blinking down at him, moving his hand over to Tom's shoulder.
Okay, so maybe Tord was a bit jealous; his eyes clouded over with envy as a small frown displayed on his lips.
Tom stiffened, turning his head to peer up at Tord. "Sorry, sir," he mumbled, backing up from the girl. "She does fine— no need for extra training." He swallowed, immediately coming to her defense. "We were just talking about yesterday's events." His eyes flickering to the girl, silently apologizing as he stood impressively still.
Damn. Why the hell was Tord being so bitchy? He was just trying to help the poor girl.
Mia nodded once, extremely focused on her actions now as Tord observed her; moving back as he gave a Tom's shoulder a quick squeeze, signifying him to come follow him.
As Tord pulled Tom to his side, he didn't say anything. He just went back to observing over everyone else, though, he stood closer to Tom, as if protective of the boy.
What the hell?
"What's your problem?" he hissed quietly, glaring up at Tord. "I know I was with her a bit longer, but I was trying to help. You said yourself that she'd be a good spy, so I was trying to get her basics down before anything else." He narrowed his eyes, chewing at the inside of his cheek.
Tord didn't say anything, eyes not flickering down to look at the Brit.
Once the boy finished his little rant, the Norwegian looked down and stared at the boy straight in the eyes.
"You gave her too much attention."
He then looked back up, observing all of the soldiers.
The words didn't seem much at first hearing. But, why would Tord be so concerned about attention?
He'd leave that for Tom to decipher.
Mia was concentrated, firing nearly all the bullets in the centre of the target. She was doing well, and Tord was watching her like a fucking hawk.
"Whatever," Tom spat, looking back at the soldiers. He let out a sigh, forcing his shoulders to relax. "Are there any other soldiers we should keep an eye on? Any with an exceptional skill we should note?" he asked with a hum, trying to get Tord's attention off of poor Mia. "And what happened with that guy you knocked out, sir?" His eyes flickered up to Tord for just a split second.
"No one else in this group." Tord spoke lowly, pulling Tom closer with his subtle hand on the boy's waist.
He moved his lips closer to the boy's ear, making sure he was close as he growled lowly.
"You're fucking mine. Okay? I don't like sharing you, at all."
He moved his hand off of the boy's waist, moving off to another soldier and observing him.
Wow, that was, sudden...
Tom stared at Tord with wide, confused eyes.
His cheeks flamed as he processed the words, averting his gaze.
Well, damn. That'd be jack-off material for weeks.
Tom laughed quietly to himself. Jokes always helped him when he got too flustered, because, well, having Tord speak to him like that made him very flustered. And warm.
He shook his head before scanning the room. He needed the situation off of his mind. So, he took off towards a soldier, planning to fix their stance.
After training, the Norwegian and his lieutenant walked around the base, walking over through all the departments and ending at Tom's room.
"Dismissed." The leader spoke as he walked past the boy's door, into the next hallway, most likely going off to go back into his room or office or something.
"Wait," Tom said suddenly, trying to catch Tord's attention. He rushed toward the Norse, though he kept a bit of distance between them. "What... what did you mean?" he asked, tilting his head. "You said... you don't like sharing me. I don't understand what you were trying to say, sir." He chewed at the inside of his cheek, face pink.
Tord just barely turned his head, glancing at the boy over his shoulder, legs stopped.
"You belong to me." He spoke lowly, voice deep. "You are mine, and mine only."
He turned around and looked at Tom straight in the eyes, leaning in so his lips were right against Tom's ear.
"Don't ever think otherwise."
And with that, Tord left off to his office.
Tom watched with wide eyes and a red face that could only be rivaled by Tord's old sweatshirt. Quickly, he ducked his head down and rushed into his room, one hand covering his mouth as he bit his lip.
Shit. Tord was really hot. It made Tom hot, too. He had to get rid of the warmth, and soon.
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°).
The next morning, Tom was a bit hesitant to actually go into Tord's office. He knew he had to, but...
He was still a bit embarrassed from Tord's words, which shouldn't be much of a surprise.
Still, he stood outside of Tord's door, letting out a soft sigh. Telling himself a causal 'fuck it', he knocked and awaited permission to enter.
"Enter," Tord called from inside of the room, head ducked down studying and writing quickly all over a small sketch of some building, perhaps a possible extension.
The Norwegian looked up as Tom walked into the room, eyes half-lidding as he smiled smugly before ducking his head down again to study.
After a bit, Tord spoke.
"Would you like to join me for breakfast?"
Tom, who had completely dazed, snapped to attention, blinking a couple of times. "Uhm... sure," he said with a nod, eyes flickering to the ground.
Two days in a row? Damn.
He shifted towards the door, but waited for Tord to pass him.
Still, though— he was a bit caught up from the half-lidded eyes and the smug smile. It made him think of what he had done the night before and how damn hot Tord was.
Damnit. If he didn't stop thinking about that soon, he'd get even more flustered.
Tord let out a small chuckle, walking over towards the door as he kept his hand folded neatly behind his back, sighing gently as he walked through the hallways.
Any soldier they met on the way there would scrape their shoulder against the wall opposite to the leader. Nobody wanted to fuck with or annoy the terrifying leader.
As they walked into the cafeteria and sat down, Tord started whistling a small tune, letting his hands cross over his chest.
After they ordered and were waiting, Tord decided to ask:
"What's your favourite colour?"
What a lame fucking question. Oh well.
Tom blinked, finally looking up at Tord. He took a quick glance at his navy shirt, raising an eyebrow. "Navy." He shrugged. "I'm guessing yours is red?" he said with a simple huff of laughter.
Tom tapped his short nails against the table to the beat of his favorite song, unsure of what else to do.
Tord laughed gently.
"Of course." He spoke. "How'd I forget?"
The fair haired boy let out a soft sigh, leaning forwards on the desk as he observed the boy.
"I've never noticed how soft your features are." He mumbled, so that only Tom could hear him. "Like your small nose, or your cheeks."
Caught off guard, Tom's eyes flickered down, making it rather obvious he had been trying to look at his nose. Then, he looked back up at Tord before his cheeks went pink. He looked away, head tilted downward. "...Thank you," he mumbled back, keeping his voice just as quiet as Tord's. He took a quick glance at Tord, forgetting how noticeable the action would be due to his visors. "Why? I mean, why'd you say that?" he asked after a moment.
"Why? Can't I compliment you?" Tord asked, his eyes half lidded with a smug smile on his lips, tilting his head slightly.
He looked at the food as the plate slid in front of them, Tord picking up his fork before looking back up at Tom again.
"Really though, you look lovely today." He purred, picking a cube of tuna up with his fork before plopping it into his mouth, eyes not taking off the boy, a small smile on his lips.
Tom's blush worsened as he gave Tord a tight-lipped smile. He had to be careful with what he showed Tord— after all, he urged to hide his face, or perhaps squeeze his eyes shut. He was excellent at hiding his emotions— minus the blushing, of course.
Now, however, with his visor, he didn't really have that privilege.
"Thank you," he mumbled once more, stomach churning with embarrassment as he picked at his food. He took a bite, still trying to fight off his stupid urges to hide himself.
Tord let out a small laugh as he ate his food, satisfied with himself as he finished off his plate.
After the two had their food, the leader pulled the Brit into the boy's own room, looking around and observing the place.
Why could have the Norwegian brought the Brit into his own room?
After a short moment, he stretched and pulled off his coat, now fully revealing the red turtleneck that had lied beneath the navy coat that had draped over his shoulders.
The said article of clothing hug to his chest and waist perfectly.
He ran a hand through his fair hair before letting his hands fall back to their regular position whenever he walked around the base: behind his back, politely folded.
"Lovely morning today, don't you think?" The words slipped from his lips as he looked outside the window, a thin layer of snow blanketing the paths and training fields. The sun was shyly peeking through thick fluffy clouds of white, and the sky was a fairly pale blue. It was one of the rare days that the sun had even dared to reveal itself.
"It is very pretty," he murmured in agreement, stepping up so he was just an inch behind Tord. "The sun's nice, too. Especially with the window. You get to soak up all the heat while looking at the snow." He tilted his head, just watching the scenery. And— and, Tord, too. Because damn, did Tord look really nice in his turtleneck. Like, seriously, he wouldn't mind seeing Tord wear that all the time, because it really did bring out Tord's muscles, and oh god he's staring.
He quickly looked back out the window, shaking his head slightly.
Curse Tord's good looks.
Tord hummed in agreement, just staying quiet as he stared out, stare frolicking all around the trees and the snow and the clouds, soldiers— anything that was really out there.
He stayed like that for a little bit. Just staring out, most likely in thought.
"Tom." He spoke, voice far, far softer than normal. "In private, just call me Tord. There's no need for formality." He sighed gently as he looked to the side, at Tom, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants.
He then let himself wander around the fairly large room, over to Tom's desk, letting his fingers graze around on the polished wood.
"I wonder how this all happened." He spoke gently. Honestly, it was kind of terrifying how soft he was being for once— his voice was nearly always steel-hard and cold, barking and strict.
So to see him talk the way he used to was... really fucking strange, honestly.
"The army, I mean. I wonder why." He spoke, moreso to himself than to his lieutenant.
He let himself sit at the boy's desk and fiddle with a pen he had found on it, feeling it as if he hadn't known what it was.
It brought back memories, to him, of adventuring his dad's office when he was younger. He'd go through all the cabinets, all the pens, touch and feel everything.
Nosy then, nosy now.
He unscrewed the cap of the pen and looked at it for a couple seconds before capping it back on.
"Do you like fountain pens?" He asked, twisting his head over to Tom as he offered the Brit a soft, very gentle smile, an eyebrow arched upwards slightly.
Tom nodded. He had settled a few steps behind Tord, watching with a tilted head. "They're nice," he admitted. "I was taught calligraphy at a young age, too." He smiled slightly at the memory.
Still, though— why was Tord acting so soft? He had never since the Norwegian as anything except cold. At least, not since...
Whatever. The 'accident' was behind them now.
"Why so curious all of the sudden?" he asked after a moment, trying to rid all of his thoughts. "Did... something happen?" He blinked at Tord.
Tord stayed silent for a couple more minutes as he set the pen down, before standing up from the seat, turning his body to Tom as he sighed gently.
He moved his hands down and holding them, eyes looking down as he slowly intertwined their fingers.
"I've been thinking." He spoke gently, moving his lips next to Tom's ear as he kept his voice soft, their bodies close. "A lot about you. Just you."
He moved his lips and pressed them to place a gentle, ticklish kiss on the tip of Tom's ear.
"I want you."
Tom couldn't help the obvious shiver, eyes going wide.
Tord... wants him. And has been thinking about him.
"...You want me?" he echoed after a moment, silently cursing himself. His voice had unintentionally gone sweet and quiet with hope. Damn his emotions, and damn his stupid red cheeks.
Tord let out a soft chuckle as he let his eyes close, tired.
"I want you." He repeated, confirming his answer as he pressed a kiss against the boy's temple before slowly trailing them down the side of the Brit's face, his rough lips just barely grazing Tom's skin, kisses shy.
He continued down, tilting his head slightly as he fit his lips down and around Tom's neck, moving Tom closer against the wall as he brought his head back, finally looking at the boy as he kept their hands intertwined.
"Do you want me to stop?" He asked, hands sliding from the boy's as he moved them down to his waist, fingers just barely peeking underneath the fabric of the Brit's attire.
Tom's breath was caught in his throat as he watched Tord with wide eyes and red cheeks. He slowly wrapped his arms around Tord's neck as he subtly shook his head. "No... continue." He looked away, cheeks burning. Pressing his back against the wall, Tom relaxed slightly. Still, he refused to look at Tord, keeping his eyes averted.
Tord let himself plant more kisses onto the Brit's skin, sliding his hands up the boy's shirt as he let his lips part and start licking at the Brit's neck, movements slow, gentle, passionate.
As he continued to suck on Tom's skin, his hands had slipped from underneath the boy's clothes and began unbuttoning the vest that had been in the way, biting and nipping gently at the boy's soft, pale skin.
Once he had gotten the vest off, he moved and hooked his arms underneath the boy's knees moving his lips from Tom's neck and to the boy's cheek, before planting them so gently onto Tom's, pushing Tom against the wall further in order to keep the balance.
Tom's eyes half lidded as he kissed Tord back, his motions equally soft. Almost unnoticeable, Tom gripped the back of Tord's turtleneck.
Hey, if Tord drops him, the Norse is coming with.
He pulled back after a moment, leaning closer to Tord so he could press soft kisses against the Norwegian's neck, sighing with delight.
Hey, just because he's the sub doesn't mean he can't be affectionate.
Using the hands on Tord's back, Tom pulled him closer (even though that made him stretch a little bit, and damn, did his waist protest).
He cuddled into Tord's neck, sighing softly.
"You okay?" Tord mumbled into Tom's ear, holding him as close as he could to his chest as he walked over to the bed, sitting down and letting Tom cuddle into him, more comfortable as he ran his scarred hand through the boy's soft chestnut-coloured hair.
He kept his gaze on the boy's face-- or, well, as much as he could see of the boy's face, resting his head against the boy's.
"Yeah," Tom murmured sweetly, pulling out of Tord's neck. Instead, he placed his forehead against Tord's, smiling softly. He gave Tord a gentle kiss. He leaned back, falling onto the bed and bringing Tord with him. Then, the boy closed his eyes and cuddled into Tord, no doubt enjoying the attention.
that was fun while it lasted. I hope everyone enjoyed! this is the last chapter, of course, but I hope you all have a good day.