Archive of Our Own

His ribs were still aching from when Tord had slammed him into an oak tree, using his godawful prosthetic to ensure that he stayed pinned down for as long as the bastard wanted him to be. It was only through a stroke of luck that a heavy downpour suddenly rained down all over them, allowing him to slip out of Tord’s metallic hold to sweep his feet out from under him, causing the Norski to fall backwards into the dirt and lose his breath, long enough for Tom to compose himself before kicking the shit out of him.

It wasn’t a very graceful series of attacks, but well, he’s tired, barehanded, and also fuck Tord.

It wasn’t long before the man in question had shot his arm out and caught his leg, just as Tom was about to kick him (again) at the side of his head, he pulled hard enough for Tom to trip and fall onto his back, as around this time, the soil had been dampened and made slippery by the rain.

Before he could even think of sitting up, he found Tord straddling him and attempting to choke him out, keyword being attempted, since Tom still had enough of his wits about him to repeatedly kick him in the stomach while Tord squeezed at his neck, even when he was shaking him in a bid to try and disorient him.

They yelled and spat curses at each other all the while, screaming targeted obscenities at the top of their lungs. The words had been drowned out by the crashing rumbles of thunder and deafening shush of the rain, making it seem as though they were saying nothing at all, even as their faces twisted into blazing scorn and snarling scowls, as they toppled and thrashed at each other in the mud and muck of the forest floor.

This also wasn’t a very graceful series of attacks, but well……fuck off, they don’t need to justify shit.

Tom pulled his legs back, scowling up at Tord, before kicking upwards with all his might with a yell. The force of which, had caused Tord to let out what sounded like a mix between a retch and a gasp, and for a moment, Tom was afraid he was about to get sick all over him but he, too, let out this weird little sound as his kick also managed to push Tord backwards in its momentum, but the Red Leader had a tight grip around his neck, and so he was pulled forward with the man.

They both rolled down the sloping ground that had been behind Tord, causing sticks and stones to dig painfully at them as they tumbled down together.

Tord smashed his face into a boulder, eliciting a shriek.

Tom accidentally swallowed a bug on the way down, causing him to choke.

Once they both landed on level ground, the two leaders spared no time scrambling back up to their feet, although Tord had only been partway to standing straight again before he snapped his head up at Tom’s furious yell, barely able to brace himself as the Blue Leader lunged at him with a snarl.

This raging football tackle actually did manage to make Tord throw up a bit, but being too prideful, he swallowed it down before it made it past his throat. The aftermath simply being him gagging a little before punching Tom square in the face for almost making him spit up.

Let’s rewind a bit.

For about a few months now, Tom had been recently dealing with a certain headache that liked to call themselves ‘The Free World Alliance’, a summit of world leaders whose countries had not (yet) fallen into the grasp of the now aggressively growing nation of Red. A collective whose sole mission is to stop the total world domination of the Red Leader, dedicated to preserving the independence of what remains of the free world.

In other words, technically, they were Tom’s bosses.

They were his sponsors, would be the polite term for it, but he knew (and they sure as hell knew) that they’ve got a leash around his neck, ever since the day he made the stupid decision to strike a deal with them, during the years when his army had been nothing more than a patchwork of soldiers sewn together by dental floss and a dying man’s broken dreams. He had seethed at them, hissed and spurned their attempts at communication, but eventually, desperation led him to feed from a hand that would eventually strike at him.

It was….one, of his many regrets….

Free World gave him all the resources he could have ever needed, all the manpower, funding, and weaponry to keep fighting in a war he hadn’t even asked for. It was an unfortunate oversight on his part, seeing as he had now been stuck fighting for far longer than he wanted to.

The nations under Free World hailed him as their hero, their last standing defense against a tyrant that wanted to take away their independence. He had been paraded around, made to look pretty, made to smile and wave, give out speeches of hope he never wrote, made the face of a movement he didn’t even believe in.

Most days, he felt more like a showgirl than a military leader.

It’s why he hated coming home, his soldiers have the choice to, but he’d rather spend as much time out in the warfront than in front of a camera.

Home doesn’t….it stopped being home a long time ago anyway….

Now, if he couldn’t be dolled up and showed off, the summit of leaders wanted results. Sure, he took back a few countries over the years, but lately he’d been forced to call a retreat from the frontlines more and more.

Ever since…Roskilde.

Naturally, this was an unacceptable thing. His performance was making everyone nervous. Why isn’t the Blue Leader- the antithesis and sole resistance against the Red Leader- winning any more battles in the warfront? What if they’ll start losing countries to the Red Nation instead of merely being forced to retreat from countries already under Red rule?

The unrest of it all was palpable in the air, and the summit leaders had not been pleased.

Tom had stood there, arms at his back, eyes staring forward in a hundred-yard stare, a single spotlight above him as a circled bench on elevated platforms surrounded him at all sides, behind them the world leaders of respected nations.

Looking down at him in disappointment and scorn.

‘How could you let this happen, Blue?’

‘Resources wasted yet again! Do you know what the optics of this looks like?!’

‘Now, we know that you are fighting your hardest out there, but you must understand that your failings are starting to scare the people.’

‘This is the seventh time this year that you’ve asked to pull back your troops, Blue. We are starting to grow concerned with your ability to lead your army…’

It hasn’t been his army for a long time now.

The Blue army (as much as he hated that name) was once his, no doubt. During a time when a vengeful, spiting, fire had still burned in his chest, when all he knew was anger and grief with which his only solace had been found in the violence of warfare, made righteous by a cause people believed him to have.

Nothing in war is righteous, and his reasons had always been anything but.

But he did what he had to, said what he had to, in order to try and achieve his selfish whims.

Anything to make it hurt a little less.

Then after the Free World intervened, suddenly his army was bigger, his core members were still there, the same people he lied through his teeth to who looked at him as though he held the sun in his hands, but now there were new members, people who he could not control, people who had a different leader and only served him under their orders.

The Blue Army may match its counterpart in size and manpower, but Tord at least was actually their only leader.

Tom had to share.

And he hated sharing.

He knew though that he had to play nice, without his sponsors all his resources would disappear in an instant, and then he’d have no chance against the Red Army. Even though his sponsors also knew that without him, Tord would stop playing fair, Tord wouldn’t cede to fighting in empty fields, dead lands, and hollow towns. Without him, Tord would relapse to his old habits…some of which involved several war crimes.

It was a mutual destruction, but it didn’t mean they wouldn’t make it difficult for him if they weren’t happy.

A headache….it sounds like an understatement now.

With gritted teeth Tom had simply said ‘I’ll handle it.’ As he turned and walked away from the summit of leaders, ignoring their displeased outcries thrown at his back.

He had to play nice….but he was so tired….

What was even the point of this now.

Their cause had never been his cause.

He’s so so tired.

Why is he still even…..

…….

In the next few months, Tom had gone for a more aggressive approach. He targeted countries that were essential points for the Red Army, places that had major bases and transportation roads. He caused as much chaos as he could, disrupting the once smoothly running machine that called itself the Red Army.

Delays upon delays. Communications cut and dead. Reinforcements coming too late.

Anything to make them buckle. A result that was good enough. A performance that looked good enough.

Anything to get them off his back.

Unfortunately- or fortunately he didn’t know- his little antics had managed to infuriate dear old Red Leader.

And in a battlefield, in a place he didn’t even know where, Tom had seen a whisper of Red, a deeper colour than the others.

The shade of still warm blood.

That was all he needed to see, all that needed to be seen.

His coat fluttered behind him as he ran, the dark blue of his uniform flashing in the light of a shaded sun.

Tord met his eyes.

And they clashed in the middle, the crack of their firearms echoing like thunder.

Like the blood rushing in his ears.

But it was a short-lived feeling, that rush of sudden life, that explosion of colour in the grey world around them.

The shade of Tord’s uniform desaturated slowly. Each blow, each taunt, each hit and kick. Slowly, slowly, the colour would bleed. Tom had felt his heart drop at every loss of vibrancy. No no no.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Panicked eyes looked up into grey.

And found its emotions mirrored.

At some point, their guns had been lost to them, somewhere along the time when they first saw each other again, in that battlefield far far away from where they ended up now. All Tom remembered was Tord managing to kick his pistol out of his hands, while he had been able to make Tord let go of his own before swiftly kicking it away.

Whatever happened next were all blurs of hits, kicks, taunting, and screaming as they chased each other down. Their respective troops unable to keep track of them as they engaged with each other while their leaders became lost in their own fight.

Little did they know, each time they returned to each other, just a little bit of their fight had been chipped away by their private meetings. Bit by bit, their reasons to continue their dance slowly began to fade into the mists, motives and emotions becoming unclear the more years passed them by, as both slowly started to wonder if any of this actually still meant something at all.

Was it still justified if now it just felt like a routine?

Dull, broken, unchanging….tired.

Soon, even their excuse of ‘It’s just the way it is’ wasn’t enough, not anymore.

God….how pathetic, needing to justify something they used to feel passionate about.

Tord was wrong after all, and sadly Tom couldn’t even feel any sort of glee in that, they couldn’t even muster a shred of the fire that used to drive them towards each other, the life as he said, the reason they came to blows….because nothing else ever let them feel alive.

Tord was wrong….and Tom was so angry that he was.

What was the point of this?

Soon, he had found himself staring up at the grey sky, arms splayed out wide at his sides, his chest heaving with stuttering, pained breaths that he could barely catch. His heart hammered wild against his chest, only proving to make it ache something fierce, when once, a burning rush of adrenaline would have been coursing through his blood, invigorating him, but now, it only felt draining.

The cold droplets of rain pattered down his face, tapping against his skin in a way that almost felt tingly, sliding off him in heavy droplets and forming puddles in the soil below him. His clothes were caked with mud, uncomfortably wet, and torn in places as a result of his scuffle with the other leader, even the insides of his boots felt gross and squishy, he winced at the feeling of his wet socks.

His body ached badly, and he knew full well that ugly bruises would soon form on his skin, painting him in splotchy patches of purple, red, yellow, and even green. He was sure that he wouldn’t be able to move again for the next few weeks, he was getting way too fucking old for any of this, it already hurt enough to walk around on a good day. He wondered why he kept trying to exacerbate it by doing stupid shit like getting the fuck beat out of him by a deranged man with a metal arm.

He thought it might be a form of self-punishment, once long ago when he might have been younger, dumber, and full of angsting hot shit, but at this point Tom just figured he was just some kind of dumbass with a thing for getting fucked up. Lord knows dick all and frankly, he’s too tried to care about some deeper meaning to any of this now.

It’s just the way it is.

Yeah, that, whatever…

He inhaled a sharp, cold, breath through his teeth, grimacing as a drop of rain slipped into his mouth as he did so, he turned his head to the left and coughed when it entered into his windpipe.

He felt fingers brush against his right hand.

Tom cleared his throat and turned his head to the right, squinting against the rain and wind.

Tord had collapsed beside him, positioned the same way he was when they both fell to the ground, with the exception of his robotic arm splayed awkwardly at his right, twisted from when Tom had caught it mid swing and busted its elbow joint with a hard stomp. It was satisfying in the moment, when he heard the crunch of metal and fortified glass, and Tord’s thundering scream as his arm spasmed and sparked, oil and blood dripping out his arm port as he turned a burning, furious, gaze at Tom.

For a moment, the world seemed to explode with colour again.

Then it dulled back down, when the look in Tord’s eye shifted to a twinge of pain and a deep-set tiredness that had suddenly become too familiar.

Tom didn’t even try to block the punch to the face that came right after.

But now, looking at the mangled piece of metal, he could only feel something akin to….well, regret, he supposed. It was hardly a fair fight if one of them was literally disarmed.

So, after a moment of half-hearted kicks and punching, the two of them stood opposite of each other, heaving breaths and nursing sore body parts, before Tord suddenly let out a long, battered sigh, and Tom brought a hand up to his eyes, as they both collapsed to the ground, uncaring of whether or not their once pristine uniforms got any dirtier than they were now.

Funny, how they used to care about those little things, back when they carried more than just their names, represented more than just themselves, practiced smiles and sculpted poses to appeal to an audience they had cultivated themselves, but ultimately fell into the trap of the spotlight they both willingly stepped into, once upon a time.

Maybe that was why, at every chance they got, they stole away somewhere far from the fight they set on that stage, underneath the gaze of the world.

Out here, in the forest of a country they had no ties to, it was just them, and their stupid justifications.

Maybe their fighting used to mean something to them, and he was sure it did.

But now it felt like just another performance, practiced snarls and choreographed punches, the glimmer of their spotlights so dangerously close to their positions, an audience that didn’t exist, whose eyes bore into them- into him- watching their every move, ready to curse and jeer at the slightest stray from script.

It’s tiring.

It’s tiring.

Tord’s eye stayed heavenward, his pupil moved minutely, his eye blinked in small intermissions when raindrops fell too close. Tom could see his breath escape him, clouding up just slightly as he exhaled, he watched, transfixed, at the way Tord’s chest rose and fell with his deep breathing. Sometimes his face would twitch, nearly a grimace as the pain around his arm port seemed to worsen, but it only lasted for half of a second, as his expression would once again smooth out into neutrality, eye still watching the sky.

His fingers curled against Tom’s own, and he made no attempt to withdraw from his touch.

They stayed like that for a moment, fingers brushing, Tom watching Tord’s face as he watched the sky above them. The rain had let up but only slightly, becoming less of a downpour but still heavy enough to completely drench them both. Tom was aware that he was starting to sink into the mud, and so was Tord from the looks of it, but he barely had enough energy to move, so it didn’t really bother him as much as it should have.

He wondered, for a second, if this is how they both died. Together on the wet forest floor, succumbing to the cold that will inevitably come once their blood stopped rushing through their veins from their fight, dying of something easily avoidable, or maybe just dying from whatever injuries they couldn’t feel at this point.

An odd choice of an ending, but truthfully, Tom felt it didn’t matter. He always figured their endings were always going to have the two of them present, whether it was just one of them who died or both. He knew Tord felt the same way, even if they never spoke it out loud.

So long as they were together when it happened, any ending felt to be right.

…What a sad, sad thing that was.

But that just the way it was now. It’s just the way it is.

“….Tord….”

Tom wasn’t sure why he spoke up, as he was content enough to stay quiet for as long as his counterpart did as well. Even then, his voice was barely above a whisper, in all probability completely drowned out by the rain, there would have been no point calling out to his eternally unwanted other half.

And yet, despite that, Tord’s eye finally strayed from the sky, his gaze pulling all his focus and attention to the man by his side.

To the person he was always seemingly cursed to be with.

But Tord’s gaze held no contempt, or rather it never really did. It could be angry, it could be scornful, it could be cross and frustrated, but looking back on it now, Tom didn’t think he ever looked at him with any genuine contempt.

It was hard to acknowledge that, once, as his own hatred was now completely one-sided, but now it was just another fact he swallowed down bitterly, settling uneasily in his chest before he set his feelings on it aside.

It’s just the way it is.

Tord’s eyelid fluttered, his mouth moved to speak, but he sooner withdrew from the motion with a sigh. He studied Tom’s face, searching, wondering perhaps of something Tom wasn’t sure of, but then he blew out a breath and heaved himself up with his hand, consequently withdrawing his fingers from where they rested against Tom’s own.

A rush of cold sped up from Tom’s fingers to his chest, causing him to shiver and cough again, he turned his head to the side as he was wracked with wheezing.

He startled when the rain suddenly stopped hitting his skin, and he looked up with just the slightest bit of suspicion when he saw Tord looming over him.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, their gazes’ level.

Tom watched as Tord looked him over, thoughts passing through his eye as he decided on what he wanted to do next. His robotic arm clicked and shifted uselessly at his side, causing him to wince as it hissed and creaked. He pursed his lips, his eye narrowed down as he looked at Tom’s face.

Tom braced himself as he brought his hands closer to his chest, just in case.

Then Tord slowly, wordlessly, extended his flesh hand out, offering it for Tom to take.

He stared at it, making a quick note of the scars that danced across the Norski’s skin, before he lifted his hand and held Tord’s own, letting the other man pull him up from the ground and to his feet. Tom stumbled a bit as he was still just slightly disoriented, but Tord pulled him close to his side before he could fall back down again. Tom groaned at the feeling of their soaked uniforms making contact.

There was a split second where he spied Tord smirking at him, his mouth twitching upwards, probably to taunt him, ask him: ‘Oh are you drunk?’ with how he was conducting himself, but instead, he seemingly aborted the thought once his arm began to spark and smoke. Tord winced as he glanced at his port, then he sighed.

He started walking forward, pulling Tom along with him without so much as a word, not that Tom would protest to it. He shivered and pressed himself closer to his counterpart, seeing as Tord was now his only available source of heat, in this sad miserable state they were both in.

Tord only tightened his hold around him, as if trying to offer as much comfort as he could.

And wasn’t that a thought?

He wasn’t exactly sure where they were going, and he was confident that Tord didn’t either. They were just wandering the woods at this point, supporting each other as they took wobbling steps through the brush together. Tom wasn’t even sure if they were walking out of the forest or further in, it wasn’t like they were keeping much track of their surroundings when they were busy trying to pummel each other out of existence a little while ago.

He vaguely recalled a long-forgotten memory, with the feeling of a lost sense of familiarity, where Tord’s hand on his waist was suddenly a sensation he recognized, the way he kept his gaze forward, searching but ultimately unsure, all at once became a dizzying moment of déjà vu, as a younger visage of his face seemed to overlap with his present.

Just the two of them, children- adults-, fresh from a pointless squabble, bruised and aching, lost- wanting to be lost- in the woods, with only each other as company, as support.

For a moment, he could almost feel fearful little droplets of tears cascading down his face, as he pressed closer to the boy who had hurt him just moments before. And Tord’s hold on him tightened, his voice murmuring something he could no longer hear, no longer remember, as though his words had been broken apart and muffled under water, but a warmth had spread at their sound, and he settled calmly at his side as they walked.

Then he blinked, and the tears were just raindrops on his cheeks now, Tord wasn’t a boy and neither was he, and he wasn’t afraid of being lost in the forest. Content to just walk to where ever his companion directed them to, happy to let Tord do all the thinking as they tried to….well, he wasn’t sure where they wanted to be anyway.

Though, he was pretty sure that they weren’t getting anywhere close to their armies any time soon, even with the rain pouring down around them, neither of them could hear the sounds of the ongoing battle they left behind.

Maybe their armies were caught in a standstill too, somehow sensing that their leaders had suddenly stopped trying to kill each other.

They both paused when a loud explosion rung out and rumbled through the forest. They turned their heads to the direction they both heard it come from. They stood still as they gazed out to the distance.

The rain buzzed like static around them.

Tom leaned closer to his counterpart, Tord’s heart beat softly in his ear.

Then, they turned around, walking in the opposite direction.

It wasn’t long before it was just the sound of the rain, and their breathing, once again.

At some point, they somehow managed to make it to a lake. Tord had paused and looked around, only letting out a soft ‘Aha.’ when he spotted a small, wooden lake house nestled quietly near the banks, a collapsed walkway with a little canoe being its only companion in the dense forest surrounding it. He quickly urged Tom to walk a bit faster towards the house, now that the prospect of somewhere dry had presented itself, Tord’s steps seemed to take on new life.

Tom scoffed to himself, he mostly forgot that Tord wasn’t as apathetic as he was.

Once they were out of the rain, Tord let go of Tom, quickly checking the door to see if it was locked, and by some stroke of luck, whoever had been here before left it wide open, but Tord still hesitated for a moment, his ingrained paranoia likely rearing its ugly head, which caused Tom to roll his eyes and push him to the side, opening the door himself and stepping inside, heedless of the troubled look on Tord’s face as he did.

The inside of the lake house was fairly simple, the interior was completely comprised of a warm redwood and a little bit of greystone, which a single fireplace had been completely composed of. It was dark, but there were a few lamps and hanging lights stationed at various areas, Tom glanced to the side and found some light switches but didn’t move to flick them on.

Not that he would even dare to, it would give away their position. Right now, they were trying to hide.

It was obvious that the lake house was the getaway of only one person, seeing as the living room was only around five steps away from the kitchen behind it, which housed a breakfast bar and a single stove and countertop, while at the other end of the house was a single queen-sized bed, framed only by two nightstands pushed against its sides. A single oak door stood off to the side, probably the bathroom.

A pretty barebones place, but enough for one person looking to escape he supposed.

“Thomas,” Tom turned around to find Tord still standing by the doorway, he jerked his head to the side, towards the direction of the fireplace, before leaning back and darting his eye to the outside. Tom quickly understood what he was trying to say, as this wouldn’t be the first time they ever commandeered a location for just the two of them.

He huffed and approached the fireplace, quickly snatching up the wrought iron poker that had been leaning against its side. He made his way back to his companion and handed it to him. “Don’t die.” He said in lieu of anything else.

Tord scoffed as he tested the poker’s weight, he stood there for a moment, before he made his decision and leaned in close, his hand pulling at the front of Tom’s uniform to drag him forward. Tom tilted his head just so as Tord slotted their lips together perfectly, he pressed closer, seemingly wanting to make it last longer than it should, but he was pulling back well before Tom was ready for him to, causing the other to chase his lips as he did.

Tom flustered at that while Tord only grinned at him.

"I'll be back soon, kjære."

Then he was gone, off to scout the surrounding areas for any sign of life, just to ensure that they were secure and safe enough to let their guards down while they recuperated. 

Tom sighed to himself and rubbed at the side of his face, when did this shit become his life…seriously…

He started off on his own perimeter check of the lake house, though it wouldn’t take as long as Tord checking out the surrounding areas, since the place was pretty small and there weren’t a lot of places to hide in there anyway. He only really needed to check the bathroom, and it was just as empty as the rest of the house.

In fact, it was likely that whoever owned this place hasn’t visited it in a while, a thin layer of dust had settled on the surfaces of the furniture, and none of the cabinets held any supplies, save for the firewood stocked at the side of the fireplace, there really wasn’t much of anything in the lake house aside from what could immediately be seen.

It could be possible that they were currently in an unoccupied and evacuated country, which would explain the absence of the owner, but Tom wasn’t even sure where they were. He didn’t pay enough attention to know.

It all blurred together these days anyway…

Tom decided to do just one last roundabout check, he peered out the windows as he circled the entirety of the lake house interior, carefully shutting the blinds closed once he was sure there was nothing of note to be seen, and anyway if there was, he was pretty sure Tord would have it handled, especially now that his arm’s bust. That bastard gets absolutely ten times more ruthless as a defense mechanism.

Once he was satisfied with the security of the lake house, Tom made a beeline straight for the fireplace when he started noticing how cold he actually was. His nose prickled as he wrapped his arms around himself, he sneezed loudly and sniffled with a frown, wincing at the dampness of his clothes now that he was paying attention.

“Eugh….” He groaned as he peeled his black overcoat off his frame. He gave it a small squeeze and watched as rainwater fell to the wood floors with a splash, he sighed and draped it over the fireplace mantel, he winced as it made a wet squelch.

Tom knelt down and looked over the fireplace, and was slightly disappointed to find that it wasn’t fitted with a gas valve, so that meant he had to do this manually. Though, thankfully there was a box of kerosene fire starters and a mostly depleted lighter where the firewood was stacked.

As he was throwing in the last piece of firewood, Tom jolted as an angered, howling, scream suddenly emanated from somewhere behind the lake house. He stayed still, eyes wide and focused on the closest window, back ramrod straight, and body positioned in a way that he could jump up and make an escape if necessary.

Then, after a moment, his mind cleared and he recognized the voice that had yelled. He sighed, and soon the tension in his frame began to bleed out, allowing him to return to his task.

It was while he was in the middle of removing his vest when Tord came prowling back into the lake house. He slammed the door shut behind him before locking it up. The fire poker in his hand was unceremoniously thrown against the nearest wall with a loud ringing clatter, before he banged his fist on the door and braced himself against it, his face twisted into a deep, snarling scowl, his loud panting breaths seemingly echoing in the spaces between them.

Tom had watched this all unfold with a tilted head and silent curiosity, opting not to say anything about the slick red blood that was coating the right side of Tord’s body, with much more of it around his hand. He waited his partner out, while Tord clenched and unclenched his fist against the door as low growls left his lips. Then he took in a shaking breath, held it for a moment, before blowing it all out in one go as he gently pushed himself away from the door.

Standing there, slightly hunched and shaking, his head made a slow turn towards Tom’s direction, allowing the other a clear look at his face, where flecks of blood settled in scattered dots against his skin. The light of the fire gave him a rather eerie, shadowed look, one so befitting of a man who held the title of the Red Leader.

Though, as the Blue Leader, Tom only gave his visage a blank eyed look, one that Tord smiled at as he approached him.

When he was close enough, the Norski leaned into Tom’s space, which had the Brit putting a hand up between them with a scowl. “Uh uh,” Tom said as Tord blinked in confusion at the hand stopping his advance. “Go wash yourself, you are not fucking touching me with blood all over you, dipshit.”

Tord scoffed then chuckled low, attempting to make a grab at Tom’s hand only for the other to pull it back before he could. At the Brit’s affronted look, Tord’s chuckles became louder in volume. “Kjære,” He said with a teasing lilt to his voice, “You never minded my affections even with blood upon my person, are you getting squeamish now?”

“I am cold, I am dirty, I am completely soaked. We just spent an entire afternoon in the rain rolling around in the mud like pigs.” Tom crossed his arms as he leveled Tord with a glare, which the Norwegian only seemed to find glee in. “I have a limit arsehole, and I’m at the level where I am beyond done. So, you are not going to fucking touch me right now while you’re covered in blood. Capiche?” He hissed out the last word through gritted teeth.

“Oh, but elskling, we’ve gone through much worse than a little rain, dirt, and blood! Don’t you remember the incident in Lithuania with the sludge-“

“Bathroom. Now. Tord Larsin.”

Tord bit his tongue to stop himself as Tom stiffly pointed towards the door behind him, his scowl now deep set and his hackles raised like a particularly irate cat. Tord found it oh so precious, Thomas had always been cute when he was angry, which is why it was his favorite past time to make him yowl and seethe, but he has a point this time, and Tord wasn’t actually as attached to the blood on his skin as he pretended to be.

So, with a light shrug and his hand held up in acquiescence, Tord circled around the Blue Leader to get to the bathroom, but not without quickly stealing a kiss and copping a feel before he darted past Tom, who yelped angrily as he tried to land a hit on him when he ran.

Tord laughed heartily as he left a fuming Tom behind him, the Blue Leader’s angry muttering cut short when he closed the bathroom door.

Tom growled under his breath and touched the part of his pants where Tord had slapped him, he groaned in frustration when he brought his hand back and found the tips of his fingers coated in blood. Fucking commie arsehole……

A little while later, with Tom now in only his blouse with the rest of his clothes hung up on the fireplace mantel, Tord came back out from the bathroom with only a black towel wrapped around his waist. His arm port now bare and missing his mangled prosthetic. He held his wet clothes in his remaining arm, now slightly wrung out and not dripping rainwater all over the floor, while another black towel was held firmly between his teeth as he moved to where Tom had seated himself in front of the fireplace.

Without preamble, the Red Leader leaned down towards his counterpart, and deposited the towel in his mouth onto Tom’s lap with a ‘Bleuh’, as he turned to hang up his clothes on the mantel much like Tom had.

Meanwhile, Tom looked down at the towel with a slightly disgusted frown but brought it up to his hair anyway, rubbing against his scalp to get his hair at least somewhat dry now that he had the means to do so. He let the towel rest on his head as his hands pulled at the ends to keep it flat against his crown, he watched as Tord shuffled their clothes around to ensure that they all get an equal amount of space on the mantel.

Though he did pause when he came to his briefs, which Tom scowled at when Tord turned to spy at him with a leer in his eye, his tongue poked out with his smirk.

“Going commando?”

“Don’t be a fucking perv about it, cunt.”

“It’s just a question.”

Tom flipped him off, Tord laughed and turned back to his task.

Once everything was done, Tord happily sat himself by Tom’s side, his hand instantly reaching behind and around him to settle on his counterpart’s waist, pulling him closer to his side until Tord was able to rest his head on top of Tom’s own with a happy little hum. The Brit huffed at this but settled himself as best as he could in his new position.

Tom wasn’t entirely sure when he started getting comfortable with Tord’s more casual- clingy- physical forms of affection. Sure, at the start, it more or less felt like another one of Tord’s intimidation tactics, disrespecting Tom’s personal space and what not, which he of course hated.

Though, the more it happened, the more Tom had become awfully used to it, sometimes he wouldn’t even register Tord’s hands straying across his body, which had only emboldened the other to push farther than he used to, until it ended up the way it did now.

With Tord seemingly always draped around him, and yet somehow never in a suffocating way. Only casual, fond even. It just was.

It sure as hell was never a thing when they were younger, a hearty fuck no in all its degrees, as the only time they ever got physical often involved one of them getting a black eye or a nasty bruise.

Amongst other things….

Even when they started whatever the hell kind of fucked up relationship they had now, two military leaders in public, always trying to kill one another, but- what- fuck buddies behind closed doors??

He doesn’t even know if that was the right term for whatever this was. It felt somewhat lacking.

But Tord had always taken a mile out of every inch Tom allowed him to have, so maybe this progression was always going to be the intended outcome. The moment he let Tord hold him down and kiss him until he bruised. Though, he figured it was at least very on brand for them to start out so violently before working their way up to a softer touch.

Though these physical displays of affection had only intensified after…. Roskilde.

There was never any real indicator to when Tord would initiate these moments. Sometimes he does it after a fight that tired them both out too much, sometimes he did it after they fucked but not always, sometimes they just had to be alone together somewhere, sometimes Tom just had to be close enough for him to reach.

Then he would hold him tight but gentle, grasp his hands as though to anchor them to each other, lean in close until Tom could feel his body heat. Even out in public, Tord would always establish a point of contact between them when he was allowed. A hand on his shoulder, his neck, his arm, whether in threat or cordiality, he just had to be touching him somehow.

And each time it happened, Tord would always linger before he let go, press further than he might have meant to, holding on to Tom as though it was the last time he’ll see him.

Church bells and cathedrals sometimes flashed through Tom’s mind in these moments. Whispers of ‘I hate you’ meant with all his heart, a bitter consolation of whatever he had left in this world, and a kiss that felt softer, slower, sweeter than he thought it would, lingering on his lips, disappearing as though it never happened.

‘I know’ said in a voice too soft, too sad.

Lost.

When Tord held him close, Tom would always let him. More than he used to now.

They don’t talk about it, not that either wanted to. It just happened. That’s just the way it is.

The two of them watched the fire in complete silence. Their shadows flickered and danced behind them.

Tom was nearly lulled to sleep by the sound of Tord’s breathing, steady and strong as it was, but then he took a deeper breath, he shifted his head on top of Tom’s own, and even with the towel between them, Tom could feel his lips pressing against the crown of his head.

He jolted a bit when the Norski’s fingers went under his blouse and drew circles on the skin of his waist, making him squirm at the feeling. He brought a hand to his side to slap at the fingers, and while it did stop the motions, Tord let out a breathy laugh above him.

Tom clicked his tongue in irritation and ignored the way Tord’s fingers merely resumed their ministrations after a moment, the stupid bastard knew he was ticklish, but at least this time his movements were more pressing instead of fluttering, so Tom could tolerate it somewhat even if it did make him a bit jumpy.

“Are we going to talk about your latest murder victim?”

Tord merely chuckled at his question, but the sound was a little stiff to Tom’s ears. “Why? I checked our perimeter; I took care of it. It’s the standard affair, Thomas. You know this already.”

“Sure, but is there anything else about this perimeter check you’d like to share with the class?”

“Mmmm…..” Tord clicked his tongue a few times as he hummed in ‘thought’. “Not particularly, no.”

“No?” Tom traced idle circles on the part of the towel covering Tord’s thigh, “Nothing interesting happened out there? Aside from what I won’t doubt will be labeled as a grisly murder?”

“It was deer, Thomas.”

“That you had to kill?” Especially considering the amount of blood he had been soaked in, despite the rain still falling outside.

“I think so.” Tord answered with a light shrug of his shoulders. “I’d rather I didn’t take some…complicated thoughts back to you, min kjære.” His grip on his waist tightened considerably, Tom pinched his thigh in response, Tord’s grip loosened right after. “…Considering our circumstances….”

“’Considering our circumstances.’” Tom echoed back in a bitter mumble, he scowled at the ground. “I should kill you….”

He felt Tord shift his head to lean down, pressing a light kiss to his temple before settling back on top of his head. “Later. It’s hardly fair right now.”

“You’re not an invalid.”

“Would you be satisfied if I were to die right now? As I am?” Tord paused, before he let out a low breath. “…As we are?”

Tom felt his voice catch in his throat at the question. He gritted his teeth and said nothing. Not that he could, at least, he didn’t think he could.

He didn’t even understand what they were at the moment, who they were at the moment. How could he answer that question when he wasn’t sure what any of this even meant anymore.

He used to have his reasons, his motives, his justifications. And that used to be enough.

But now…. it’s been years, and try as he might to pick at the scab, time will unfortunately heal even the wounds he didn’t want it to. Even if he tore it open anew, each time he did, the pain became familiar, the pain became numb, and his body became used to fixing it, becoming quicker every time.

Time heals all wounds.

That saying feels so threatening now.

He wondered what Tord thought of it too, sometimes.

“Do you think they’re wondering where we are, Blue?” Tord murmured suddenly, his voice crackling as though it meant to join the fire in front of them. He had said Tom’s moniker in a way where it felt as though he was addressing a stranger. His voice had taken on that tenor he often used when making public addresses.

Tom swallowed a bit at the reminder of their armies, still fighting somewhere out beyond the forest, all the while the two of them had seemingly forgotten about their own reasons to fight.

Tord’s fingers pressed down just slightly on his skin.

Tom cleared his throat.

“Why wouldn’t they, Red?” He mustered up every memory he had of the times where he stood in the battlefield to rally his men, when he faced off against the Red Army during their peak for the first time. His voice held steady as he spoke, loud and clear enough to carry through the distances. “After all, they’ll never know which one of us will come back alive.” He reached up to touch the scar that ran jagged across Tord’s collarbone, courtesy of him and a rather beautiful sword gifted to him by his sponsors from the Free World.

He doesn’t use it, not anymore. Actually, he didn’t even know where it was these days.

He sighed, leaning more against Tord as he felt himself getting a bit drowsy. “…or if either of us will come back at all…”

Tord’s fingers seemed to freeze on his waist just as Tom had locked up beside him as well. Tom held his breath, only now realizing what he hadn’t meant to slip out from his deepest thoughts. What had he just implied?? That they both disappear together?

The undertones of that suggestion were far, far too much for him to think about. It wasn’t something he was ready to think about.

He heard his own heart in his ears, suddenly becoming hyperaware of how stiff Tord’s grip on his waist had become. He dared not to make a sound as he listened to the Norski’s tense breathing.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

The hand on his waist began to relax, slowly, then Tord was back to pressing a slow, soft, beat against his skin.

“…. Interesting…” Tord’s voice dipped low, causing an involuntary shiver to race up Tom’s spine. “But how morbid of you, Blue.” His hand left his waist with a gentle caress, travelling up the side of his body till it settled under his chin, he let the other leader tilt his face up, even allowing the towel to fall from his head as he did so.

He met Tord’s eye, the intensity of his gaze seemingly matching the light of the fire.

His heart beat wild in his chest.

Ba-dump Ba-dump. Ba-dump Ba-dump. Ba-dump Ba-dump.

The world seemed brighter somehow. The grey slowly washing out around them. Saturated in the warm light of the fire, everything suddenly seemed to click in his head. Tom’s surroundings stopped feeling vague, terrifyingly dream-like, and now wholly and comfortingly real. He could feel the warmth of Tord’s hand under his chin, take in the weight of his gaze that suddenly looked so clear.

He felt his heart beat faster, breathing in a life that set things into motion.

Alive.

“In your mind, do you really envision an end where the both of us die?”

Tord’s breath tickled his skin, the ever-present scent of smoke touching his senses, but strangely overpowered by something else. Tom knew what Tord’s scent was usually like, of course he would. Metal, oil, smoke, and gunpowder. He brought the taste of man-made progress, the future and machinery in his scent, cold and unfeeling, rigid and bold.

Now though, an earthy scent overpowered the smoke; wood and grass, a hint of a mist and the deep scent of earth, an old scent that predated the progress of humanity and all it entailed. The breath of life that he would never associate with Tord.

Rain.

Petrichor.

He wondered if his own scent had changed as well. If his own scent of blood, death, and grief, had become just as muted and faded….as Tord’s own.

The thunder outside rumbled. The rain continued to pour.

Tord’s thumb brushed against his bottom lip, he leaned close enough that their noses were touching.

Tom’s eyelids fluttered as he breathed in his scent.

“In your eyes…is that the only ending you see for us both?” Tord murmured in the space between them, his eye glanced down for a moment, settling on Tom’s lips, before he looked back up into his eyes. “Tell me honestly, Thomas…”

He let the Norwegian guide him closer, all until he found himself straddling the other, sitting atop the towel he had wrapped around his waist. His arms slowly wrapped themselves around Tord’s neck, his hands gently ghosting over the other’s skin before settling on top of each other behind him. He felt a small scar just below the base of his neck, and his finger traced it idly, noting the small shiver that passed through Tord as he did so.

Tord coaxed him closer, until there were virtually no spaces between them, their chests touched, every point of contact against their skins seemingly bursting with a warmth that had them both shuddering.

Tom rested his forehead against Tord’s own, looking down at him with a sudden uncertainty when it should have been familiar. He knew what came next, he knew what it felt like to be in the Norwegian’s arms, to let himself get pulled down, pushed and held too tight, scratched and bitten till he bled, pleasure seemingly forced from his usually steady hold, his mind numbing itself as it was overwhelmed with sensation, losing himself in the moment, allowing Tord to take from him until he was left broken apart.

And yet…suddenly, he didn’t think that was what was going to happen now.

He didn’t know.

He continued to watch Tord, their breaths mingling together, he shivered slightly as Tord’s hand travelled up and down his spine, seemingly mapping the surfaces of his skin, committing them to memory, when he should have already known every inch of his body a long time ago.

Tord’s gaze held steady with his own, his eye slowly moving over every feature of his face, savoring the sight as it seems, the corners of his eye softening with every second that passed.

The intensity of it almost blinded Tom, with how it seemed to bring forth a deep saturation of colour all around them.

He blinked a few times, to rid himself of the dizzying sensation, and almost didn’t register the way his breaths had stuttered, robbing him of all concentration, as Tord lifted his hand up to settle his thumb back on top of his lower lip, brushing lightly, before moving down to his chest, on top of where his heart should be.

Ba-dump ba-dump-ba-dump ba-dump-ba-dump ba-dump-ba-dump

His head was spinning.

“Please be honest…” Tord whispered, the barest of desperation tinging his tone, as he tilted his head, his eyelid steadily fluttering closed.

“….tell me how you think this ends….”

Tom swallowed, though it felt difficult to do so.

He tilted his head, his lips brushed against Tord’s.

“Please don’t ask me that.”

Tom surged forward, closing the last bit of space between them.

He heard Tord make a small noise of surprise, they rocked back slightly as he hadn’t been able to brace himself on time, but Tord found his bearings pretty quick and pushed himself back against Tom’s initial movement, his hand coming up to rest at the back of Tom’s neck, pulling him closer.

Tom bit down on the Norwegian’s lower lip, humming a bit as Tord allowed him to slide his tongue against his own. He pulled back slightly as the sensation made him take in a shuddering breath, but Tord immediately pushed forward, capturing his lips back into the kiss, deepening it all the more as Tom let out a quiet mewl against his mouth, sighing softly as he felt the other melt against him.

Tom found himself pressing in for more, soft little sounds escaping him every time they separated just for a moment. He could taste the tobacco that was always present on Tord’s tongue, but somehow it tasted sweeter than it usually did, somehow it didn’t taste of ash and dirty smoke, somehow it tasted good and Tom wanted more of it. Almost as if he had developed an addiction to the taste in that moment.

He chased it, feeling high off the way it lingered on his tongue.

Tord pulled back from him, a thin string of saliva keeping a connection between their lips. Tom whined at the loss.

Tord’s breaths came out in stuttering gasps, right, they needed to breathe. “Thomas, wait-“

“No,” Tom didn’t even feel a sliver of shame in the way his voice whined petulantly, he moved closer, his arms tightening around Tord’s neck, as he pressed their lips together again. Despite his earlier protest, Tord opened his mouth and let Tom slide his tongue against his own once more, allowing the other to relish in the feeling for a moment before he pulled back again.

Tom gasped as they separated, his body suddenly remembering that he needed to breathe, but he sighed sadly as his attempts to resume the kiss were thwarted by Tord moving away just slightly every time. He bit his lower lip in frustration and stifled a sob as he settled with pressing their foreheads together.

“No, Tord, please please please please…” The words came out before he could stop them, even then he was unsure of what exactly he was begging for, all he knew was that he needed something, something that only Tord could give him, and he was desperate for it, he wanted it so much it hurt.

Every point of contact between them wasn’t enough.

It was almost as if he wanted to crawl out of his skin, meld himself permanently against Tord somehow, to keep that warmth, that life, the colours so saturated that his head would hurt.

But at least it meant he was alive.

He needed to breathe.

“I know…” Tom came back to himself at the sound of Tord’s voice. He looked down at his partner, noting the way his skin had flushed a light red, how his breaths seemed to quicken every time Tom moved against him, wanting to press closer, skin rubbing against skin. “I know, kjære….” Tord breathed out as his hand strayed across Tom’s body underneath his blouse, his fingers deftly unbuttoning it as he moved upwards until his partner was laid bare for only him to see.

Tom felt himself flustering at the thought, even though it shouldn’t make him nervous, somehow it felt different this time. He felt too open, too vulnerable underneath Tord’s stare. His scars and imperfections all on display, and Tord’s silence as he looked him over was agonizing.

He tried to curl in, to hide, but Tord’s hand pressed against his back, forcing him back into his previous position.

“Let me see you.”

It wasn’t a demand, far from it, which had shocked him to his core. Tord never shied away from making demands of him during these moments, always taking, never asking.

But this time….he was asking.

And Tom felt himself giving in.

He closed his eyes as he felt Tord’s hand wander across his abdomen, pressing down sometimes, tracing his cuts, fluttering against bruises that had already formed, gentle so as to not hurt him. He shivered when he felt calloused fingers against his chest, pressing down slightly as they slid against his skin, there was a momentary pause on top of his heart- which surely would be beating too fast now- before Tord moved downwards, giving Tom no warning as he pinched a nipple, rubbing it between his fingers.

Tom gasped, back arching slightly as his eyes opened in surprise, only for them to shutter closed as Tord moved close to his neck, gently dragging his teeth across his skin, before his canines settled on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, he bit down hard, slightly puncturing his skin, the metallic taste of familiar blood dancing across his tongue.

Soft little whimpers escaped from Tom before he could stop himself, he let out quiet cries as Tord’s tongue lapped at the bite, before he moved on to pepper fleeting kisses against his throat, then biting and sucking at areas he knew Tom was most sensitive, littering his skin with marks as he went along, all the while tweaking and rubbing at his nipples, causing the other to arch against him even more, grinding against him, making him gasp and moan quietly.

His hand went further downwards, scratching lightly against Tom’s inner thighs, before he wrapped his hand around his cock- which had been hard for a while now, leaking an impressive amount of pre-come- fingers rubbing lightly against the slit, causing Tom to let out a louder whimper at the sensation as Tord began to pump him slowly, not letting up his assault on his neck as he did so, pushing his partner near overstimulation, but not quite there.

“Ah, ah, ah..” Tom gasped softly, hips stuttering at every pump of Tord’s hand, desperately trying to build up the friction that he needed only to be denied it as Tord refused to speed up. He gritted his teeth and choked on a whimper as he felt Tord bite down hard on his shoulder, clearly disapproving of his attempts to speed them along. He could feel himself shaking, from anticipation or frustration he wasn’t sure, but he needed Tord to do something or else-

His thoughts stuttered to a halt when Tord moved up to capture his lips again in an open-mouthed kiss, his tongue caressing against his own so sickeningly sweet, he couldn’t help but moan into it, eagerly pressing closer to deepen the kiss, allowing his head to go blank in order to let him focus on the feeling, the taste, the sounds he was making barely registering in his own ears, but he knew he was being noisy, not that he cared anymore.

He just needed this.

Needed Tord.

God, he felt like a desperate whore. One that fell in too deep with a man who had no name for him to remember, other than one night he would spend with him.

But he knew Tord, knew his name, his face, him.

And he wants.

Tom whimpered when Tord suddenly let go of his cock, only to gasp out in surprise when Tord moved to stand and carry him, he wrapped his legs around the other’s waist, arms tightening around his neck as the Norwegian stood. Their balance was a bit off, as Tord was only one handed, but he adjusted quick with Tom clinging on to him so tightly.

Tom hummed as he was carried towards the bed at the end of the cabin, sighing as Tord refused to end the kiss even as he lowered them down. The bed creaked slightly with their added weight, and Tom quickly shifted himself back to his knees either side of Tord’s legs. Somewhere along the line, his towel had fallen off, leaving him naked, his girthy cock stiff and at full attention, causing Tom to salivate just slightly as he caught sight of it between his legs.

He pulled out of the kiss with a pop, gasping lightly as his head spun as he swallowed in breaths. He felt Tord’s hand reach up and cup the side of his face, which he leaned into as he looked down on his partner.

Their gazes held for a moment.

“…You didn’t bring lube, did you?”

Tom squeaked out suddenly, causing Tord’s eye to widen slightly in surprise before he snorted and turned his head to the side in an attempt to quell his laughter.

“Contrary to your beliefs, Thomas,” Tord said as he looked back up at him, his smile twitching on his face. “I don’t always think about fucking you.”

Tom lifted an eyebrow at him.

Tord set his jaw and rolled his eye with a sigh.

“Fine. I do. But, I wasn’t exactly expecting to….” He trailed off, his hand coming up to comb his hair back as he frowned, “You know, we could….just…d..” Tord cut himself off slowly once he made eye contact with Tom, who had stuck four fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling along the digits, coating them with a copious amount of saliva as he kept eye contact.

Tord felt his stomach swoop with a sudden pleasure at the sight, his cock twitched in anticipation.

“Shit.”

 Tom smirked at his reaction as he began to lower himself down, giving his fingers one last lick just as he got to Tord’s cock, he huffed at the way the Norwegian visibly swallowed as he reached behind himself to press his own fingers inside his hole, just as he lowered himself to take the whole of Tord’s cock into his mouth all the way down to the base.

He felt the tip hit the back of his throat.

Tord slammed his hand down to his side, causing the bed to jump slightly.

“Fy Faen!” He growled out before he bit his lower lip to stop any other sounds from escaping him.

Tom hummed, the vibration reaching to the back of his throat, as he began to bob his head up and down, slowly, dragging his tongue along with his movements, pressing it hard against Tord’s cock as he did so. He would stop at the head sometimes, swirling his tongue and lapping it against the slit, tasting the salt of pre-come as he continued to move his head up and down, swallowing the entirety of Tord’s cock each time.

He added a finger into himself each time he had adjusted to the feeling, scissoring and pumping even as he could feel his legs shaking from the strain. It wasn’t easy doing this without lube, but it wasn’t as though it was his first time prepping himself like this. He curled his fingers inside him, punching out a moan from his throat when he managed to hit a certain bundle of nerves within him, just as he was deepthroating Tord’s cock.

Heady moans and stuttering gasps had been ripped out of the Norwegian as Tom continued on. The Brit grunted when Tord snapped his hips upwards when he wasn’t ready. Fingers carded into his hair as an apology, which he rewarded with another hum around the cock in his mouth as he dragged his tongue up along its shaft, causing Tord to yell and let out a muffled whimper in surprise.

“Fuck. Thomas!”

Tom pulled himself off of Tord’s cock with a pop, saliva chasing after his lips when he did. He pulled his fingers out of himself as he crawled up to his previous position of straddling Tord, he wrapped his arms around his neck, as Tord’s hand came to rest at his hip.

He stared down at him, Tord stared back.

Slowly, he pushed himself down, hissing softly at the slight burn of Tord’s cock entering him. His breath hitched when he managed to get the first inch inside, he panted at the strain, his legs shaking lightly as he continued to lower himself, but any further thought was mostly banished as Tord pulled him down into a kiss. Successfully distracting him.

They both groaned into each other’s mouths once Tord bottomed out. Tom let out sputtering whimpers as he adjusted to the feeling of being stretched out fully, a dull ache travelling up his spine as he shifted on Tord’s lap, feeling as though he could barely move.

Tord peppered kisses along his jaw, cooing softly. “Shh, shh, you’re doing so well kjære. So good for me…taking me in so beautifully….” Tom whined at that, an old embarrassment quickly making his face heat up. He shifted forward to move his head over Tord’s shoulder, so that the other wouldn’t be able to see his expression. He let out a quiet, drawn out ‘aaahh..’ as Tord began to guide him up till only the tip of his cock was left inside of him. “There we go, if it hurts, you can always tell me to stop kjære, okay?”

“Mmhm..” Tom managed out as he felt Tord guide him back down, there was definitely more resistance than if they had lube, but the burn of it didn’t bother Tom as much as he thought it would. In fact, it felt really good, as if it was lighting all of his senses into attention. He moaned at the feeling of being stretched out again. His arms tightened around Tord’s neck.

The pace was slow, most likely Tord giving him time to adjust, even if he was impatient enough to try to get him to move already. Still, even then, something about it made Tom feel lightheaded, a tingly feeling spreading out from his chest, making his toes curl every time Tord snapped his hips up to thrust into him, deep and hard enough that it made him see stars, but so agonizingly slow he couldn’t get enough of it.

Like they could keep going for a long time.

He swallowed audibly at the thought before crying out as Tord bit into his shoulder.

“Let me hear you, Thomas.” Tord growled low into his ear, causing him to choke as the other suddenly quickened his pace as he did so. He gasped and groaned, biting down into Tord’s shoulder as he angled himself just right, so that he was actively hitting his prostate with every hard thrust. He whimpered as Tord moved his head to the side to bite at his neck. “Thomas.” He warned low.

Tord snapped his hips up just as Tom was lowering himself.

Tom gasped and yelped as Tord took that chance to pull him back by his hair, exposing his neck to the other as his gaze snapped up to the ceiling.

He moaned loudly as Tord swooped in to bite at the side of his neck, his thrusts turning fast and deep with every sound he managed to force out of Tom’s throat.

Tom was very aware of how much Tord liked to make him scream. It was something of an ego-trip for the other leader, something he had admitted to many many times before. Tord often reveled in the fact that he was able to make his equal writhe and beg underneath him, derogatory words always coming soon after he managed to make Tom vocalize.

And yet…this time, he said nothing, seemingly content to just listen to Tom cry out his pleasure.

Tom yelled out louder as Tord continued to pound into him, he was barely able to keep up with his movements but found that he didn’t mind that at all. While the change of pace at the start was nice, welcome even, this roughness was something he was used to. The way Tord would just take from him, chasing his own pleasure as he did whatever he pleased with Tom. Burning and hurting him in all the right ways that made him forget himself for a moment, forcing all his thoughts to focus on just Tord.

This was what he needed.

Stop thinking for a while.

The war isn’t real.

The Free World didn’t have a hold on him.

Everything that happened, that led him to this point. It didn’t exist.

It was just them. Here in this moment. Only Tord in his head. The way he looked, felt, how he sounded.

And he wants him so bad.

“Tord Tord Tord, ah-! Tord ah ah AH!” Tom unabashedly moaned out Tord’s name, repeating it as though it were the only word he knew. He heard Tord let out rough breaths that bordered on a growl, coming out of him in quick successions as he continued to rock into him. Their bodies moved together perfectly, familiar with each other in every way that counted.

Tom could feel tears pooling at the corners of his eyes as he was pushed into overstimulation, his legs were shaking either side of Tord, threatening to buckle every time Tord snapped his hips up into him. He whined low as the Norwegian continued to mark his neck, he panted wildly as he struggled to keep up with the feeling of it all.

“..elsker deg.. kjærelighet…” Tord’s voice was low, barely a whisper, almost trembling at the edges. Tom shuddered at the words he spoke, a fluttery feeling almost lancing through him at the tone he had used. His heart pounded hard against his ribs as he tried to make sense of why Tord would say-

Tom cried out, his previous thoughts wiped completely from his mind, whimpering incoherent words, unable to form any solid thoughts as Tord moved in a way he knew could drive him up the wall.  “Tord please please ah- aaah! Hah! I-“

“Come for me, kjære.” Tord let go of his hair, allowing Tom to rest his forehead against his as he struggled to maintain his coherency. He surged in for a kiss, swallowing down all the desperate noises Tom would make, before the Brit whimpered loud into the kiss as Tord felt him start to clench hard around him as he tensed up. Come splattered between them as Tom found his release, face twisting up into ecstasy as he tiredly let his head fall down on Tord’s shoulder.

It wasn’t long until Tord was spilling ropes of come inside of him, filling him with a familiar warmth as the other slumped against him much as he had.

They panted in sync, breaths coming out fast and faltering.

Tord wrapped his arm around him before slowly pulling them both down on the bed, shifting just slightly to get comfortable as Tom settled himself on top of the Norwegian with a sigh. He winced a bit at the stickiness he could feel at their abdomens, but he carefully ignored that in favor of just savoring the afterglow. He moved his head so that it was rested against Tord’s chest. He listened to the other’s heartbeat, nearly lulled to sleep by the sound.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

He felt Tord’s hand move up and down his back, gently, massaging at places he felt were too wound up, he moved as though he was afraid he might have hurt him too much, careful not to hit certain areas he had targeted not too long ago, in a flurry of hits and violent aggressions that suddenly felt far in the past, as if the bruises weren’t fresh, weren’t still hurting.

Every press of his fingers, every caress….almost like an apology, albeit seemingly shallow in the face of what he did, but to them it meant so much more than they knew, when neither of them would have ever apologized for what constituted as work.

They always did say that they would never mix their personal lives into this. It was never supposed to mean anything, but…who were they kidding, that was just another excuse after all, it was always personal.

Tord’s hand rested at the back of his neck, tracing circles at its base, his thumb brushing gently under his hair in a movement that almost felt sweet.

The motions felt so soft, so foreign, it made him slightly uncomfortable with how…gentle, Tord was suddenly treating him, with all his lingering touches and….

Tom tensed slightly as a little bit of his mind began to clear.

That…didn’t feel like their usual fucking…..

He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, but forced himself to relax when he felt Tord’s fingers gently combing through his hair.

Though when he glanced up, the look in Tord’s eye seemed to mirror the tenseness he was currently feeling. His eye stayed glued to the ceiling, the look on his face complicated.

Tom wondered if they were having the same thoughts.

Tord’s gaze glanced down towards him, his jaw set when he noticed Tom staring, but he doggedly refused to let his eye skitter away even as his brow furrowed downwards, a slight show of nervousness that most would confuse for a setting anger, but not Tom, not after all these years.

Tom pushed himself up just slightly, slowly adjusting his position to bring himself closer to Tord. The Norwegian allowed his movements as his arm hovered above him as he crawled up, only settling back down onto his lower back and wrapping around him as Tom positioned himself beside Tord, but still on top of him, under his chin, allowing him to look up at him but without going cross eyed.

Tord continued to watch him as he studied his features, and god, had he never noticed how much older he looked. Already, there were flecks of grey peppering his once caramel-coloured locks, not too visible from a distance but definitely noticeable this close, and Tom figured that he was actually the only one to really notice them, as Tord would never have let anyone else come this close to him.

There were small wrinkles at the corner of his eye, a dull grey coloured under it, speaking of lost sleep and endless days spent on the battlefield. Tord never seemed to tire whenever Tom saw him out in public, but in the faltering warm light of the fireplace, in this moment where it was only the two of them, he looked so weary.

Tom couldn’t help but reach up and cup the side of his face, the burnt skin under his fingers felt just as rough as he remembered.

Tord seemed to startle at that, but before he could say anything Tom spoke up first, whispering in quiet Norwegian:

“You remember I can speak your language, right?”

Tord pursed his lips, inhaling a breath that he held for too long.

“..Yeah….” He said in an exhale, before he let his eye move away from Tom’s piercing stare, preferring to just stare at nothing at his side, rather than facing the consequences of words he must have said in the heat of the moment. So, ultimately, they didn’t mean much of anything.

Tom frowned, his teeth gritted behind his lips, an unknown frustration making his heart ache in his chest. He thinned his lips and swallowed back the bitter words on his tongue, finding no energy to even lash out at his counterpart as demanded by his irrational emotions because, well, his justifications were never emotional. (Lies). If he had to hurt Tord, it had to be for a reason, and this wasn’t one of them.

He let out a shuddering breath, blinking away the dampness in his eyes as he ducked his head under Tord’s chin, steadily breathing in his scent.

Rain. Life. Petrichor. Earth.

The past and present. No hints of the future.

Tord’s hand returned to the back of his head, lazily stroking at his scalp, brushing through his hair. His touch still gentle, still foreign, so unlike when he would pull and push and take. Now, he was giving, what it was Tom wasn’t sure.

But it was making his chest hurt.

He hated it.

And yet, he couldn’t say ‘Stop’, couldn’t bring himself to push him away, to hit him or scream at him to get away from him. His touch burned, it made him sick, it made him- it-

Tom buried himself closer to Tord’s warmth, his arm wrapped across the other’s chest in an embrace, holding him closer, tighter, his scent flooded his senses, making him dizzy with a feeling akin to vertigo, yet felt as comforting as a lulling dream. It made the world feel bigger yet smaller, brighter and blinding, a reality so anchoring he felt he couldn’t disappear from it, even if the world tried its best to erase everything that he was.

It hurt, it soothed, he hated it, he wanted it, he lo-

“Why did you decide to become the Blue Leader, Thomas?”

Suddenly he was crashing back down, and the world closed in on itself once more.

Tom clenched his hand into a fist, his teeth ground together as the feeling in his chest started to abate. The warmth giving way to a familiar cold, helping him steel his heart, helping it hurt a little less.

“..I’ve answered that question before…”

Tord chuckled above him, a mirthless and dead laughter, one he often reserved for doomed men he held in his grasp. “I know, your interviews, I’ve watched them before.” Tom flustered at hearing that, his shoulder tensing up to his ear, but Tord smoothed a hand down his side, silently coaxing him to relax. “What? Do you think I don’t have the time to watch for world events? I have to wonder though, who your idiot of a ghost writer is, they make you sound far too coherent and sensible for a drunkard. Especially for your little speeches of hope.”

“Arse.” Tom hissed, his face flushed pure red, as he lightly slapped Tord’s arm port, causing the other to suck in a breath through his teeth in mild pain. He startled slightly at the pinch to his side Tord had done in retaliation. He clicked his tongue and gave the Norwegian a small nip to his neck, which the other only huffed at before tugging at Tom’s hair, making him yelp. “Hey!”

“Let it go, Thomas.” Tord chided playfully as he turned his head to smirk down at his partner, his smile only widening at Tom’s indignant scowl. “We’ll get caught in a cycle at this point, besides, you attacked without provocation.”

“Oh my god, you dick. ‘Without provocation’ my arse! You insulted me!”

“I did not.”

“You called me a drunkard.”

“Are you not?”

“Shut up, fuck you, you insinuated that I can’t write my own damn speeches properly.”

“It’s only an observation, Thomas. You can’t really expect me to know if you can? I’m only stating what I know. Given the data I have available, that being your so woefully obvious pre-written scripts, how could I ever know if you can-“

Tom cut him off with a kiss, pushing his tongue into the Norwegian’s mouth who happily reciprocated as he pulled Tom closer by the back of his neck. Tom felt his mind go just a little hazy, when that intoxicating taste of sweetened smoke began to invade his tongue, but he quickly pulled away before he got entirely lost in the feeling again, if only to glare down at his counterpart and say: “Stop talking. I hate it when you do that.”

Tord lifted an eyebrow in amusement as he grinned up at him. “I rather thought you liked me for my conversations.”

“Not when you’re spouting bullshit, Larsin.”

“So, you do?”

“When are you never spouting bullshit?”

Tord opened his mouth to reply, his eye crinkling with his smile as he swept his thumb across Tom’s cheek, but suddenly, he stopped. His features freezing for just a moment as his words caught in his throat. He swallowed visibly and cleared his throat, dismissing whatever it was he was about to say as he turned his head to the side again, his hand fell from Tom’s face, bouncing lightly on the bed.

Tom frowned at him, his head tilted in slight confusion, just what was he about to say?

“Tor-“

“You haven’t answered my question….”

Tom bit his tongue at the murmured words, he lowered himself back down on Tord’s chest, his arms crossed underneath his chin as he looked up at the other leader. Tord brought his own hand to rest atop of Tom’s lower back again, rubbing soothing circles along his spine, just an idle motion, but appreciated nonetheless.

Tom kept his silence as he looked up at him. Tord waited patiently.

“…Do you want my honest answer?” Tord glanced down at him, his eyelid fluttering at the words. At his frown, Tom shook his head. “I mean it, Tord…my honest answer, no filter, no sugarcoating any of it, nothing that you’ve heard in public, nothing that I’ve told you alone…Do you still want it?”

At that, Tord hesitated.

Tom was aware, that what they had was fragile, whatever this was, whatever quiet peace they had with each other, whatever kind of acquiescence and truce they had behind closed doors, whatever kind of relenting they had despite knowing their history, everything they did, every sin and lie, had been carefully placed to the side, danced about and only partially acknowledged by either of them.

They’ve done this for years.

But now, they were older, their bones were tired, the years too grueling, too much and too little all at once. A repetition of events they’ve memorized by heart. A stage. A show. An audience with no names nor faces. A lie. A lie. A lie.

Maybe…it was time to just, let it out.

Let it be.

It was just the way it is.

A truth, bitter, but a truth nonetheless.

Tord nodded, slowly.

Tom sighed, letting his head rest sideways as his gaze fell onto the scar on Tord’s collarbone.

Metal sung. Skin giving way so easily. Bright red. Bright Red. A scream that quelled his heart.

He’s at peace here.

Tom traced the scar, the touch of his finger only fleeting, ghost like.

“I wanted to hurt you.” The words had been grinding against his teeth, for far longer than he cared to admit, making them hurt something fierce, but saying them out loud caused something to dislodge from his chest, a weight suddenly disappearing and he could breathe. “I wanted to hurt you. I wanted you to bleed, wanted to hear you scream, I wanted you to know even just a fraction of what I felt that day.”

A crashing sense of grief and rage suddenly returned to him, feelings that were essentially his oldest friends, emotions that he used to squash down and keep away, but had become so intimately familiar with in the more recent years of his miserable life. With them, came the stage, came an audience he couldn’t see, a spotlight hanging above, blinding him in white hot light, eyes boring into him, like blades flying into his body, piercing into his flesh, choking him.

Then….it was over, the stage long rotten, an audience long gone. It was just him now, him…and Tord.

And he was tired.

Weary.

They both were, perhaps.

“…Thomas….”

Tom looked up at that, only now noticing something slipping down his cheek. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes, sniffling slightly, as he returned Tord’s gaze.

There was sadness in his eye, something sympathetic.

…but no regret.

Typical.

Tom breathed out through his nose, slightly irritated, as he rested his head on his propped-up hand. “That’s it. I just wanted to hurt you. All the other shit they made me say is all bullshit.” He laughed, bitter, with a roll of his eyes. “’Freedom. Justice. Protection of the innocent.’? Hah! God, don’t make me puke, as if I give a shit? Me??” He gestured towards himself with a humorless grin, a look that Tord returned to him before he continued. “Yeah right…I just needed the money, the manpower, so I can at least hurt you in a way that mattered.”

“Well…you certainly did.” Tord chuckled.

“No,” Tom snapped, causing Tord to shut his mouth in surprise. Tom glared at him but the look disappeared as quick as it came when he sighed, “…I didn’t, hurt you where it mattered, I mean.” He tilted his head at him. “This war was a goddamned waste of time…and I’ve got nothing to show for it. As usual. Should have expected it, really….” He moved down to press his ear against Tord’s chest, back to idly tracing the scar on his collarbone, back to listening to his heart beat. “Consolation prize at least: I get a good fuck now and then, so, yay? Hah….”

“….”

Tord’s silence seemed deafening. Though Tom found that he didn’t have enough space to care about that now. He laid it all out on the table, no hiding, no fucking skirting around it. There it all was, all ugly and bare. Whatever it was Tord was going to do with that information was entirely up to him now, and with that, Tom was done.

“….Do you still feel that way, Thomas?” He looked up at his partner, finding Tord watching him carefully, though there was no alarm in his gaze, just curiosity. “Do you still want to hurt me?”

“Yes.” He answered with no hesitation. “I want to. I really really do…”

“But…?”

“I don’t need to, not like I used to at least.” Tom let out a shuddering sigh. “And that terrifies me…it makes me so angry, I want to hurt you….but I…..” His face twisted into a pained grimace, feeling his chest tighten as he began to acknowledge something he had been avoiding. “…I can’t…I don’t feel like I can, I’m tired….” He stifled a sob that nearly clawed its way out his throat, he clapped his hand over his mouth as he felt tears streak down his face. “…and I just want it to be over……”

“Kjære.” Tord’s voice seemed to break, made heavy with a grief that Tom was all too familiar with. He let himself be pulled into the other’s embrace, as he cried against the juncture that connected Tord’s neck and shoulder. He sobbed quietly, holding on to the one person in the world he hated the most, but desperately trying to keep himself anchored to him, as if he would drown if he let go.

“My friends are dead because of you.” He hissed into his skin, hiccupping as the tears continued to fall, as Tord rubbed his back, offering a comfort he didn’t want to want. “They’re dead because of you. I wanted to keep hurting you for that, but now I can’t??” Hysterical laughter bubbled up his throat, bursting out before he could stop it, heavily tinged in his anguish. “Do you know how fucked up that is?? They’re dead but I can’t even bring myself to avenge them because I’m tired??”

He pushed himself up by his arms, to look Tord in the eye, never minding the tears that fell on the Norwegian’s face as he did, even as Tord wordlessly looked up at him. “Because one day, I looked at you, and I thought that hurting you wasn’t enough, I needed to see you die….and that scared me…” He wiped at his eyes, but the tears kept returning. He laughed, a hollow sounding thing. “…I didn’t want to live without knowing you were out there…You were right you know…”

He lowered himself down, pausing just a moment, before pressing a feather light kiss on Tord’s lips. He smiled at him. “You’re all I have left…. without you…everything is grey, and it hurts.” He laid back down on top of him, arms under his chin, smile straining on his face. “I can always live without you…but I don’t want that….” He hung his head with a sigh. “It’s so fucked up…..” He scoffed. Wiping away the last of his tears. “And people wonder why I hate myself….I keep doing this shit, no duh….”

“Thomas-“

“Shut up. Hold on a sec, I’m not done.” Tom moved his head back up and pressed a finger to Tord’s lips, stopping his words. When he was sure the Norski wasn’t about to say anything, he brought that finger to his own lips, tapping lightly as he hummed. “That brings me to this question…” He muttered, though it was loud enough for Tord to hear.

“Do you regret it? Everything you did, to get here….do you regret it?”

He knew the answer.

Tord shook his head.

“I don’t.” Quick. No hesitation.

Tom huffed with a smile, he flicked at Tord’s nose, causing the Norwegian to scrunch up his face in indignation. “Yeah, I figured….which begs the question: Why?” Tom frowned at him, tracing a scar that came from an old bullet wound, courtesy of him of course. “Why don’t you regret it? What is it about all of this,” He made a vague gesture towards him. “That made it all worth it to you?”

Tord scoffed, amusement dancing across his eye, he reached up to cup the side of Tom’s face, smiling as the other leaned into it and placed his own hand over it. “I’m assuming you want my honest answer as well?”

“Tit for tat, you know. It’s only fair.”

“I warned you though, Thomas, that we would get trapped in a cycle with that kind of thinking.”

“Oh is the big bad Red Leader afraid of a little honesty hour?”

“Mayhaps, I am simply still smart enough not to reveal my weaknesses to the enemy?” Tord grinned at Tom’s eyeroll. “I joke, kjære, lighten up!” He caressed the side of his face, his eye going soft at the edges. “I wouldn’t dare lie to you now…Not after all these years…..”

“Liar.” Tom singsonged as he turned his head to kiss the palm of Tord’s hand. “You lie to me all the time…”

“…….” Tord simply smiled at him, though the corners of his mouth were tight. He bit his lower lip, his eye darting down as he arranged his thoughts. He inhaled sharply. “When I was a boy….” He began, eye blinking rapidly as he tried to recall an old memory, one he had kept far behind his thoughts, “My parents decided that Norway wasn’t good enough for them, and so, they chose to immigrate to England, where my grandfather resided…”

“It must have been awful timing, or just a rather unfortunate series of events…” Tord’s expression twitched, bordering a scowl, but his neutral concentration didn’t break. “But the pilot was new, the co-pilot irresponsible, the ground crew missed a checkup…. our plane crashed.”

Tom breathed in sharply at that, he vaguely remembered hearing about it on the news, when his mother had been preparing dinner, but he was just a child, and so it didn’t stick with him that much, but still….

“Perhaps it was providence, or just luck I suppose, but I survived….” Tord chuckled, his thumb sweeping across Tom’s cheek subconsciously, while the other rubbed a gentle line across his hand. “Do you know what the news called my parents?” Tord’s eye looked up at him, but Tom could tell that he wasn’t actually seeing him at the moment, so he kept quiet, waiting for him to continue. “A husband and wife. That’s it. That’s what they called them…..”

“I thought to myself: ‘That can’t be right. That isn’t them.’,” Tord chewed at his lower lip, his eye narrowed, taking on a glassy sheen, but no tears fell just yet. “My mother was a musical prodigy, a virtuoso, she could play any song on any instrument by only hearing it once. My father was a mathematician ahead of his time, he wrote several textbooks by the time he turned twenty, he was a respected professor at the highest institute of education….my parents were so much more than just a husband and wife.”

Tord spat out the last words as though they were a curse. His teeth gritted, grinding against each other as he tried to smooth out his expression. “Even then…. that wasn’t all that they were. My mother loved to dance to a tune only she could hear, my father was fond of potted plants and earthworms, my mother was horrid at cooking fish, but was extremely good at making just the right amount of pasta.” He laughed, this time it was genuine, fond and tinkling like a bell. It caused Tom to smile despite himself.

“My father was a clumsy man, disorganized as well, he drove my mother up the wall, made her wonder why she married him. Though, my mother was very noisy, everything she did she made sure everyone else knew what she was doing, be it gardening, sewing, taking a walk?” Tord guffawed. “My father hated it, as he needed to concentrate often when writing his theses…”

Tord swallowed, suddenly finding his mouth dry. His focus came back to the present, and he looked down at Tom, taking him in. He closed his eye. “My parents were so much more….and yet, only I will remember them, even then my memory of them isn’t truly all that they are, there must be things about them that I do not know…but with what I have, all that they did, all that they are, their memory lives within me….” Tord smiled at Tom, though the expression looked pained. “And one day…their memory dies with me, and only then are they well and truly gone. To the world, it will be as if they never existed….”

“That, Thomas, is why I hold no regrets…” Tord sighed, all at once looking as though a great weight had descended upon his shoulders. “I want to be remembered, and if I must carve a wound into the world I will.” His gaze hardened then, seeing beyond his partner, going somewhere farther than Tom could see. “I will not become a fading memory. I refuse to be cast into the void and forgotten, to cease to exist.”

Tord startled when a hand came up to his cheek, all of a sudden coming back to his present. He watched as Tom looked up at him, an indiscernible emotion in his eyes. He pressed their foreheads together, noses brushing against each other, as he looked down at him. “Is that what you’re afraid of?” He whispered, quiet and low. “To be forgotten? That makes this all worth it?”

Tord set his jaw, but allowed a shaking breath to leave him, allowed a tear to streak down his face, as he replied: “Yes.”

“Hmm…..” Tom angled his head as he pressed a kiss against his lips, he reciprocated immediately, though didn’t try to deepen it, just allowing the other to move against him. Though, for some reason, the kiss felt…different somehow, a different kind of intensity that was sure to leave them both breathless at the end, a warmth on their lips that lingered for far longer than they thought it would.

When they broke apart, they found themselves with hearts in their throats, beating faster and faster the more they looked at each other.

Tom was the first to break eye contact, lowering down to duck under Tord’s chin, leaving the Norwegian to stare blankly at empty space, heart still hammering, as he wrapped his one arm around his counterpart, while Tom returned to embracing him. A stunned silence keeping him from speaking just yet, as he was unable to comprehend the complicated thoughts and emotions that ran across his mind.

“…..wouldn’t it be a false memory?” Tom said into the silence, thankfully breaking whatever heavy tension had suddenly hung in the air.

“Mmh?”

“Your memory.” Tom continued before he clarified, “How the world remembers you. They’ll remember the Red Leader…” He pressed closer to his side, lips against skin, just brushing against it as he spoke. “What about Tord Larsin?”

“I am leaving a memory I want them to remember,” Tord replied, “The Red Leader is me, Thomas, part of me. It doesn’t matter if the world does not truly remember my self, it matters that they remember a self. A legacy that I want to leave behind. Something my parents were unable to do.”

“But what’s the point of that if it isn’t you?”

“It is me, Thomas, for guds skyld, open your ears.” Tord pinched his side, which earned him a bite in retaliation, only serving to make him chuckle at the petulance of the act. “It matters to me what part of myself is remembered. I am the only thing I can truly control, and for that, I want the world to remember what I show them. It does not matter if my whole self is not truly known…” He huffed. “That, is a privilege the world is never going to be entitled to. They are not worthy of knowing me, not truly.”

“And me?” Tom blurted out before he could catch the words, he coughed lightly when he felt Tord shift above him. Fuck it. Might as well, “Do I know you? Did you ever let me know?”

He heard Tord let out a soft breathy laugh.

“What do you think?”

He didn’t answer.

Tom sighed at that, grumbling in annoyance as Tord pressed a kiss to his forehead.

They stayed silent after that, only reveling in the feeling of being in each other’s’ arms. The fire was starting to grow dim, the warm orange light receding ever so slowly, giving way for colder shadows to creep into the lake house. They danced on the walls, cheering for the inevitable death of the light, waiting patiently as it continued to fade away.

Time moved forwards still.

“…Thomas…?”

“Hmm?” Tom lifted his head up to give his proper attention to Tord, but immediately regretted that decision as soon as the next few words left his mouth.

“What would it have been like, do you think, if you loved me?”

He felt himself freeze, his body tensing up in anxious panic. The urge to run suddenly crashing into him tenfold.

What…did he mean by that…?

“Do…” Tom felt his throat constrict, unable to finish what he wanted to ask.

Tord only gave him a steady look. Confirming his suspicions.

He scowled, and rolled his eyes.

“That isn’t real.”

“I don’t believe it isn't.”

“If it was,” Tom hissed, his tone full of scorn, “None of this would have been worth it.” He scoffed at that and leveled Tord with a glare. “Tell me, Larsin, if you actually loved me…would you still say that you don’t regret anything that you did?”

Tord stayed silent.

Tom huffed out a laugh….but he sighed.

“Let me turn that question back to you,” Tord looked surprised at his words, he tilted his head to the side in curiosity. Tom took his face in his hands, he looked down at him, eyes soft. “…what would it have been like if I loved you?”

Tord was shaking, he could feel it under his touch.

Then he spoke.

“…I might have asked you to run away with me.” He whispered, his eye dancing across Tom’s face, watching his expression for any change. “I might have asked you to stay with me….Somewhere far away, away from all the mess, from this world, where it can just be us.”

“How are you so sure I would have said yes?”

“Because in that scenario, you loved me.”

Tom felt his skin break out into goosebumps at that, he looked down, suddenly unable to meet Tord’s gaze, but the stupid Norwegian put his hand under his chin, pushing his head back up to his level, so he could look him in the eye.

“Maybe, in that scenario, we could have had a house like this.” His eye glanced over the lake house before turning back to meet Tom’s eyes. “A bit bigger perhaps, but just as hidden, somewhere deep in the woods, up in the mountains even, so long as we can keep the world away from us.”

“That sounds stupid.” Tom laughed wetly; his voice trembled. “I would not fucking agree to live in the middle of nowhere. No electricity or convenience stores? Fuck, forget that, go be a lumberjack on your own or something.”

Tord laughed, louder than he had so far, and it actually sounded happy. The sound caused Tom’s stomach to flip. “Ohhh nooo, I’d find a way to ensure we still have electricity, don’t worry, but I do have to acquiesce that we might have to live off the land.”

“Jesus, maybe I decide I don’t love you anymore.”

“God forbid!” Tord cackled as he brushed away a few strands of hair that fell on Tom’s face. “Ah, well, I suppose I could always find a way to get you your cheap ass drinks and junk foods. Seeing as, in this scenario, I love you, therefore, I would do anything for you.”

“Good. You’d better.” Tom tried his best not to fluster at the words, but he knew he failed with the way Tord smirked at him.

“And then, maybe I could convince you to find work somewhere, what did you say? Be a lumberjack?”

“As if!”

“Well, you love me, so, maybe you would say yes?”

“Ugh, in your dreams.”

“This counts, no?”

“Shut up. What are you doing then??”

“Selling patents, inventing.”

“Where would you even get the materials for that?”

“Same place I’ll get your cheap booze.”

“…Okay fair.”

Tord chuckled at that. He took one of Tom’s hands from his face, simply rubbing his knuckles as he looked up at him. “Every time you leave, I would probably be there to bid you goodbye, kiss you, tell you to be safe, and to come home soon, if you can…” He brought Tom’s hand to his lips, but only kept it there, doing nothing else as he spoke, his eye looking down at nothing. “And at night, once we’re in bed together, I might ask you a question…”

“…Which would be?”

Tord looked back up at him, finally pressing a small kiss to his hand.

“If one day, I died…do you promise you’ll remember me?”

Tom felt his breath catch in his throat.

“…I think it’d be hard to forget you.” He murmured low, heart stammering, vision going blurry. “As long as you promise you’d love me.”

Tord smiled up at him, eye watery and almost unfocused, as if he was seeing Tom in another light, in another life.

“I love you, always.”

Tom inhaled shakily as he hid his face under Tord’s chin.

“…That’s a nice thought. Too bad it isn’t real.”

Tord swallowed a breath.

“…Yes…too bad…..”

A nice thought, one that lingered in Tom’s head as he slowly drifted off to sleep. Listening as Tord’s breathing evened out, slowly….slowly….

When morning came, Tom was the first to awake. As quietly as he could, he took up his uniform once more, donning it with a grace that only befitted his title as the Blue Leader. He glanced back once, at the sleeping form of his counterpart, although he was sure Tord was awake already, and only pretending to still be asleep.

It was for the best.

He aborted the step he was about to take towards the bed, but he paused in his tracks, simply staring at Tord, before he turned on his heel.

And walked away.