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Three whole years.
There hasn’t been a day, a single fucking day, in which Tom did not think about Tord. At first, Tom thought it odd that he couldn’t block his ex-housemate doubling as his mortal enemy out of his mind. But instead, he’s learned to grow with it, and it fills him with more and more self loathing everyday. He hates himself for thinking about Tord, and he hates Tord for existing. It may seem unfair, but neither is life, especially that of Tom’s.
Sometimes, he thinks about him for hours. Those are the hours Tom despises the most. It’s disgusting to him, really, that someone with that sort of overbearing, undesirable personality plagues his thoughts in this way. Tom would be minutes from falling asleep, and suddenly Tord’s accent, or his ugly face, or his cigar smokes scent would appear in his brain. They would appear as apparitions, as memories, and even as if they were little videos of mannerisms and habits Tom picked up Tord for having when they still lived under the same roof. They would manifest into his dreams, like tentacles coiling around Tom’s mind and squeezing and constricting his thoughts until they dripped nothing but Tord. The thought process in which Tom thought of him for hours on end was the most unsatisfactory times in his day to day life.
Tom didn’t just think of Tord’s presence for mere hours, though. When his mind wasn’t exhibiting Tord for long periods of time, he thought of him for only a few moments in passing. They would be at the grocery, and Matt would be riding around on the back of the cart, and Edd would be rambling on about the unlikely happenstance that Matt somehow wouldn’t crash into the toilet paper display, and boom. A thought of Tord would flash, or maybe a memory of when he would join them for trips to the store. Tom would pass by aisles and see something that Tord used to eat, or like, or find interesting. It wasn’t that Tom wanted to have Tord brush in and out of his intellect everyday, but he did, and Tom couldn’t control it.
But even if he could control it, there was no telling if he’d want it to stop.
His other friends are not aware of how often Tom thinks of Tord. In reality, that’s probably for the better.
So that’s why, on this cold snowy night, Tom sat at the bottom of the underground train’s steps, too drunk to stand and too tired to care. Originally, he was waiting for Edd to get back from visiting his mother in London. Matt came with him, of course, to greet Edd upon his arrival. But Matt was out trying to get free candy out of the vending machine’s, so Tom was alone with his flask and his reflection. The rest of the platform was absolutely deserted, unshockingly due to the time of night.
Waiting in anticipation for Edd to step off the train (that should be coming any time now) made Tom think of junior high, where he first met his awkward little friend. Edd’s bangs always hung in his eyes, Tom was lanky and had at least twenty different spots on his face, and they were happy. For a time, Tom was convinced that he was in love with Edd during that time, high school included. But as they got older, going to university and meeting Tord and Matt turned things around by exponential amounts. He didn’t think he could love Edd forever in such a way, and he was right.
The sudden rumbling of an approaching train broke Tom out of his thoughts, and he looked up from his spot on the bottom step. Throwing his head back and taking one more swig from his flask, he screwed the cap on and tucked it away in his inner coat pocket. As the train came to a halt and people started filing out, he squinted and leaned close on his bent knees, looking to see if he could spot a green hoodie under a black coat. He didn’t bother to get up, however. He knew he was in the way of other people swarming out and up into the street, but he probably would have trouble getting up on his own. He didn’t want to cause a scene, for once, just in case he did try and stand and eat shit on the way down.
The people never seemed to stop coming out of the few train doors, and Tom realized that this wasn’t Edd’s train. Matt was still over near the vending machines trying to get god know’s what, and the lateness of the hour was making him more drowsy and more miserable than-
“Tom?”
He looked up.
Oh god, no.
No no no, no.
Tord smiled down at him, quasi-visible gap in his teeth, scarf a blood red, peacoat a faded blue. Tom’s blurry vision became sharper immediately after he got a wiff of the familiar cherry-wood cigar scent. His eyes widened before looking down, vigorously wiping the vodka and drool mixture off of the corner of his mouth. He tried to stand with the support of the concrete stairs railing, but as he got to his feet, his knees became a gelatin, and he began to stumble backwards. A firm, gloved hand shot out to grab Tom’s bicep and steady him straight. Once Tom burped and gained footing, he yanked his arm away and looked up at Tord, who was still, unsettlingly, smiling.
“Long time no see,” Tord said smoothly, knowing that Tom was still trying to find the right words. After an odd staring contest and the platform’s ambient noise going silent, Tom coughed, shoving his hands into his coat’s pockets and opening his mouth to speak.
“What the fuck?” he settled on.
“Ah, so eloquent.” Tord countered.
Immediately, Tom got out his phone to text Matt that he was going home, and he’s meet Edd and him there. He could not handle Tord right now, let alone any other human interactions. Tom wanted to get out of this as easily as he could, and in his stupor of Smirnoff and clouded decisions, he turned and started up the cold steps. This was a fantastic plan, until he heard the heavy steps of combat boots behind him.
This caused Tom to spin back around, one hand firm on the railing, the other preparing itself to push Tord the fuck back.
“Do not follow me,” Tom started, and as Tord grinned, the urge to punch him in the goddamn face grew. “I’ve lived the past three years without seeing your bastard face every day, I don’t think that should change now.”
Though, this did raise questions. Where was Tord coming from? Why was he back here? Where did he leave to in the first place. Of course, Tom wanted to ask all these. But, he knew in his heart and in his bones that if he asked anything of the sort, he’d want to ask more, and he would get too invested, and god for fucking big, Tom start to care.
Because right now, he really didn’t care. He was just… Curious.
Tom found Tord rolling his eyes at Tom’s statement. “Did you ever think that maybe we were going the same way?” He asked, and immediately, Tom felt embarrassed. Of course. This was the only exit back up to the street. Ugh, god.
It was only when Tom continued on down the street, passed neon lit 24-hour stores and darkened shops, he noticed Tord walking right by his side. Tom also realized that Tord “going the same way” as him wasn’t entirely the case. But he didn’t mention anything when he noticed the other. He just kept walking, and maybe if he walked far enough, Tord and his memory would be put to rest in his life forever. But Tord’s scent, his accent, and the sound of his boots hitting the cement under them had Tom stop after ten minutes of walking down the empty strip in silence, turn his face to Tord’s, and clock him right in the face.
“Jesus christ!” Tord reeled back, hand shooting up to cover his crooked nose. He looked at Tom bewildered, but that smile, that sick disgusting smile, found its way back to his face. Tom surged forward, fist flying to land another punch. In the back of his mind, he thanked the god that he didn’t believe in that it was late at night and the streets were baren, because if anyone saw this spectacle, he would be absolutely mortified.
Good thing drunken him didn’t give a shit when in the heat of the moment.
Once landing another hard fist on Tord’s arm, and yet another on his chest, Tom paused, panting to catch his breath. In the midst of his physical fit, he looked back up at Tord, who was nursing his sore arm. His expression didn’t falter from the last time Tom looked at him clearly, and that pissed him off to no end.
Tom also noticed Tord about to speak, but he cut him off with spite.
“Where have you been?” Tom asked, voice cracking out of soreness rather than emotion.
“I’ll tell you when we get home,” Tord muttered, more focused on his sprouting bruises. “It’s quite the tale, actually.”
“There is no ‘home,’ asshole!” Tom yelled, using his cold, dry fingers to air quote. “Not for you, anyway.” he said the last part quieter and with bitter malice.
But he really wanted to know where Tord had been. What had he seen? What did he leave for? And why didn’t he ever keep contact?
He needed this closure, right?
Right.
Or at least Tom told himself that.
After staring at his checkered vans for a long couple minutes, Tom looked back up. Tord didn’t look hurt, but he didn’t look at happy either. Tom cringed as he said his net few words.
“You can walk me home. You can come in, but you’re not welcome to stay. After you give me an explanation, your ass is out.”
That confirmation was all Tord needed.
. . .
Tom was shocked that he was being so hospitable.
Tord shrugged his coat off and undid his scarf, laying them on the back of one of the chairs in the kitchen. Tom was slowly sobering up, making coffee for himself. He didn’t offer any to Tord, because he really did not want to give off any sort of impression that the sharp featured tyrant was welcome here.
When Tom turned around, Tord was seated at the table. He was wearing a stark white tank top, which seemed odd for this weather, but Tom knew better than to comment, ESPECIALLY when he wanted as many answers as he could get outta this guy. He took the seat across from him, sipping at his black coffee with malcontent and shooting daggers into Tord’s eyes with his own. Tord didn’t seem uncomfortable, though. He just seemed to be looking for… The right words.
“Well,” Tom said flatly. “Go on, then.”
“Right.” Tord replied.
The silence continued to deafen.
“Suppose I go first then, huh?” Tom asked in the same tone, impatience already seeming to surface. Tord shook his head.
“No, no. I was gone for how long? Four, five years?”
“Three.”
“Oh. Well,” Tord began, crossing his arms and resting his bare elbows on the table. “Do you, by chance, remember that whole army adventure?”
Tom scoffed, glancing down at his coffee cup. The steam was more attractive to him than Tord was right then, because Tom didn’t want to rehash memories. He wanted answers, Tord to leave, then go to bed. In the morning he’d wake up to Edd in the kitchen, and all would be fine. It would be like this whole running-into-Tord thing never happened, and for once, he wouldn’t have to lay in bed wide awake like he has been for the past years of his life.
“I went back,” Tord concluded the statement, and as Tom opened his mouth to speak, Tord put up a hand. He used to do that when they lived together, too, and it made Tom want to rip his fucking throat out. But he refrained from such action, because this new information was… Quite intriguing.
Tord proceeded to tell Tom all about his involvement in the army, and his plans to start a new one all his own. He went into detail about the people he’s met, and how easily things seemed to be falling into place, and how the undercover mission for the Red Army was going to the the best thing that’s happened to Europe since fuck all when. Tom did nothing but sit and listen, expressions growing from pained, to concerned, to shocked and so on. He watched Tord explain the mechanics of what his planning would have to face, how intricate the plans really go, and how excellent his reign would be when finished. Naturally, he would be the first in command, but he didn’t skip a beat on Telling Tom of the people who he has on the inside.
Story after explanation after excuse, Tom finished his coffee long ago. He listened to Tord speak of this for at least an hour and a half, and for a moment, Tom felt himself feeling at ease with the Norwegian being here.
“But all that aside, I came back for two reasons.” Tord told, and Tom raised an eyebrow. If he was going to ask for a place to stay, he would know for sure that he would say fuck no, and fuck off. He figured he should let Tord know this upfront.
“What?” Tom asked, slowly getting up to put his mug in the sink for Matt to wash later. “Since you’re some kind of army deserter, you need a place to crash for a couple of days? I don’t think so. Find some motel or something. I couldn’t give less of a shit about what happens to you after the real army or whatever catches wind of your lame ass plan-” Tom turned around to be met with Tord standing behind him, his long, toned arms (due to hours and hours of who knows what kind of physical training) trapping Tom on either side. Tom was against the counter and Tord’s front, vision level with the others.
This got on Tom’s nerves, in a strange way. Maybe it was the proximity, or maybe it was the fact Tord actually had the balls to do it. Tom attempted to push past him, frown setting itself deeper into his face. “The fuck is wrong with you, ‘Red Leader?’” Tom asked, mocking Tord’s future title and plans all with one sentence. This seemed to set Tord off, finally, and he pushed himself forward, mashing his lips to Tom’s in one painful motion. Tom cut this off immediately, pulling away so far back and with such force that he hit the back of his head on the cupboard.
“Are you mad?!” Tom asked, fire and hatred and rage in his eyes, boiling up inside of him and pulsing through his limbs. He pushed Tord back, and Tord surprisingly backed off, stumbling somewhat into the kitchen table.
“I wanted to stay here for the night, just the night,” Tord assured, putting his hands up and approaching Tom yet again. “And maybe convince you to come with me in the morning.”
This was the tipping point for Tom.
He met Tord face to face with only a few steps, scowl prominent and tone even more vicious. He sounded hurt, almost, but this was mostly covered up by his unbridled confusion and rage.
“Who on earth do you think you are, commie?” Tom began, using the old nickname in a failed attempt to strike a nerve with Tord. He knew this attack failed when Tord reacted with a blank stare. Tom continued.
“Where do you think you get off, leaving out of nowhere and then coming back like nothing ever happened. I, personally, never gave a shit about where you were or who you were with, but you should have seen what you did to Matt and Edd. Leaving like that for that long without even a call? Really, asshole? And then you just dance back in here with your tight little sleeveless shirt and ugly fucking face, telling me some illegal, ass backwards plan that will probably end in death for you and whoever else you tricked into going along with? And then, oh god, and then, you have the fucking nerve to try and put some weird moves on me? Like I don’t hate your guts enough?” Tom was chest to chest with Tord now, and Tord’s hands were on Tom’s hips, and as Tom ranted and raved he found his arms wrapping around Tord’s neck, their lips crashing back together like they were moments before, his heart rate up higher than it’s been in a long, long time.
Tord stepped a leg in between Tom’s legs, causing Tom to careen back into the wall behind him. They kissed fiercely, Tord biting at Tom’s lips, Tom’s leg hooking up against Tord’s hip. The emotions were so raw, so pent up, and so real, that the two men weren’t as much confused as they were fucking enraged. The didn’t have to communicate through an argument anymore. This was the only true way they could get their words in, actions speaking for them now, and pretty soon, for the rest of the night.
“Bedroom,” Tom broke away, and Tord moved heatedly to his neck. He bit and sucked, and Tom moaned crudely. Tord complied, straightening himself up and shuffling toward what used to be Tom’s room, or so Tord thought.
“No, you fucking- ah, no. They tried to turn that room into a pool, just. Your old room.” Tom told him, palming himself through his jeans. Tord took Tom by his hip, nodding and hurriedly making their way to Tom’s bedroom.
Once there, the door was slammed shut, and the clothes were flying off immediately. Tom kicked off his jeans in a frenzy, Tord slipped out of his boots with reckless abandon. They were just so frustrated with each other, so tense, so angry that they wanted to do this. They needed to do this. This was inhibited within each of them for years. Their hate was so raw within each other that it was getting jumbled up with other emotions. They felt so strongly about each other that they didn’t know how else to express it.
This was a pretty healthy way, Tom thought.
He wasn’t as disgusted as he thought he would be by Tord’s physique. He didn’t want to say he was attracted to Tord, but. Those were feelings he could hash out and lose sleep over another time. As Tord took him in his arms and pushed him against his mattress, Tom chuckled bitterly. He never really imagined that something like this would happen, but god, was he ready.
Tord was at his neck again, legs on either side of Tom’s hips. Tom cried out loud when Tord bit down a bit too hard, but his hand in between Tom’s legs seemingly made up for it. Tord easily pulled Tom’s cock out of his boxers, and giving it a few rough pumps it was standing full at attention.
“Aw, cute.” Tord mumbled against the sensitive skin of Tom’s neck.
“Shut the fuck up.” Tom replied, voice strained as Tord touched him.
Tord licked up and down Tom’s neck and collarbone, giving Tom such shakes that he brought his arms up again, clutching onto Tord for not only physical, but mental support. He hated him. He hated his ass so goddamn much.
Tom moved one of his hands slowly to meet the bulge in Tord’s own jeans, and he had to block out the excitement he felt when feeling so. Tord groaned at the touch, pulling away from giving Tom one of the deepest hickey’s he’ll ever receive with a satisfying ‘pop.’
“How badly do you want this? How badly do you need me?” Tord asked huskily as Tom pulled him out of the front of his pants.
“I need you like I need a broken leg,” Tom lied, grazing his fingers against Tord’s length gently. Well, he didn’t lie entirely. He didn’t need Tord as a person, right? He just needed his body. He needed this closure, and this tension to be put straight to bed as soon as possible.
This made Tord laugh. His laugh was obnoxious, but at this moment in time, it somehow made Tom even more hard. Tord squeezed Tom’s ass as he moved down to connect their lips again, much less sloppy than the last time.
They ended up using lotion for lube, which didn’t work as well as Tord’s high school hentai promised it would. Tord was three fingers into Tom when he noticed this, but frankly, he knew his dick would make up for it. Tom was tight around him, and his legs were already wrapped around Tord’s lower back, but it didn’t stop the uncomfortable pain any less.
As Tord positioned himself properly he had one hand holding Tom’s thigh, the other pulling out of Tom’s ass and settling on the base of his cock, guiding himself and slowly pushing into Tom.
Tom groaned in a mix of hurt and want, and to aide himself in this situation, he pushed down hard onto Tord’s dick. This warranted a long moan from Tord, and Tom smiled, that sound pushing away any thought of registering pain for a split second.
And then Tord began moving.
Tord was a rough thruster, one hand gripping Tom’s leg hard enough to leave marks from his fingernails, the other occupying Tom’s shaft with half-assed strokes. Tord’s mouth was on Tom’s chest, biting down and sucking and marking him in any way he could. Tord knew he would be gone in the morning. Tord knew he would be gone for a long time after this. He wanted Tom to remember this night, and that whenever Tord came back, he wanted Tom to want it again.
“Tord, fuck,” Tom moaned out, feeling the headboard of his bed knock against the wall slightly. Tord lapped at Tom’s flesh, grip tightening on his cock, pulling in and out harder. He knew he hit Tom’s spot when Tom’s legs tightened around him, his moans turning into a garbled mess of words and noises and sounds that just had the tone of a whiny beg, and that turned Tord on even more, if that was somehow possible. Tom’s hands with on Tord’s back, leaving red scratch marks up and down as if that would urge him to go harder and faster than he already was. It did fuel his desire, but with each thrust, there seemed to be a hidden message. Why don’t you want to come with me, Tom? We could do this every night, Tom. We could rule the world, Tom. I hate your fucking guts, Tom.
This wasn’t just a one way conversation, however. With each angry thrust, Tom replied with moans that not only pitied Tord, but urged Tord closer and closer to the edge of climax. He wanted to hear Tom speak in this state, though. He wanted to hear Tom eat his words, and become self aware of his own wants and needs. This wasn’t love. This was tension and lust and emotion that felt so good and bare to the both of the that nothing could pull them out of it, not now.
“Ask me if you can come,” Tord breathed into Tom’s ear before planting a single warning kiss to his lips.
“Fuck you,” Tom replied with equal breathy words, pit of his stomach growing tight with the need to let go.
Tord stopped all of his motions dead, and Tom immediately let out a whine that was so full of hunger and rage that his eyes snapped open, looking Tord dead in the eyes.
“Ask me if you can come.” Tord grinned maliciously, and Tom bit his lower lip, trying to suppress himself from humping the air above him in a feeble attempt to get off. When this came to no avail, Tom felt more humiliated than before as he looked into Tord’s eyes with a pained, almost defeated gaze. His eyes were half lidded, and he mumbled out something inaudible. Tord caught this and gave him a cloudy look, not continuing his ministrations until he got exactly what he wanted from Tom.
“Please,” Tom grumbled. “Please, you terrible fuck, let me come.”
Tord wished he had a picture of Tom at this exact moment. He looked so good, so perfect for Tord and his taking. He resumed his heavy thrusting and Tom was louder than ever as he finished up, shouting a name that sounded close to Tord’s own. His come shot out hot, sticking to Tord’s hand. It was embarrassing to come first like he did, But Tom couldn’t help himself. With Tord looking at him like that, licking his lips like he was going to eat him whole, god, who wouldn’t let themselves go at the sight?
Tord gave a few final jabs into Tom before coming inside with a long moan. His back felt sore from Tom’s scratches, but as he pulled out and wiped his hands on Tom’s bed sheets, he knew he wouldn’t have it end in any other way. Tom was good in bed, just like Tord had imagined he would be.
Tord breathed heavily, laying down next to Tom almost cautiously. When Tom made no move to fight him on this action, Tord even made the move to get under Tom’s comforter, having Tom join him there after. They were warm and a little shocked, but it didn’t stop Tom from begrudgingly scooting closer to Tord, resting his head on the others upper chest. Tord hooked an arm around Tom’s waist to complete this action, their bodies slicked with sweat and other disgusting things that will be a pain to wake up to in the morning.
Though, as Tom faded in and out of consciousness, he realized something. He hated Tord, yes. But why was he so willing to have himself be taken and seduced by him in the way he did? He decided to blame it all on pent up anger, but a part of him knew the truth. He knew that those nights laying awake in bed for hours with Tord on his mind were all due to something more, something deeper than the two men not being the ideal pair of “friends.”
And as Tord kissed Tom’s head briefly, mumbling something in Norwegian, probably, Tom’s thoughts were confirmed.
. . .
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Tord asked Tom quietly, already dressed back up into his scarf and coat and boots. He was leaving once again, onto the next location, to spread his truth and plans of the Red Army. This house was merely a pit stop, with hopes in Tom too high.
“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” Tom frowned, arms crossed across his blue sweatshirt clad chest. It was around 6 am, Edd and Matt asleep in their respective beds. They were not going to risk waking them up, having to explain why and what the fuck was going on. Tom knew his two other house-mates made it home from the station when he saw Edd’s unpacked suitcase discarded without care by the front door, which was currently open, Tord outside on the doorstep, giving Tom one last look of suggestion. The air was so cold and crisp, and it was painfully fitting for the situation these two people were in. Tom gave Tord’s face a look that was urging him to leave, and Tord caught it, but wasn’t receptive. He gave a smile that knew what Tom was feeling, but it looked as somber as he looked when he left the first time three years ago.
“Be honest,” Tord spoke in his hushed, accented tone. His hand was up to Tom’s face, rubbing his thumb against the bone below the skin. “How did you feel the first time I left?”
Tom pulled a face, but made no move to lurch away from Tord’s touch.
“I didn’t.” He said.
They both knew that was the least bit true.
“Bullshit,” Tord replied before leaning in, giving Tom another kiss. This one felt much different from the ones shared last night. This one had a hint of something else. A hint that it wasn’t quite the end yet.
When Tord pulled away, Tom was sneering.
“That was disgusting.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Tord waved his hand dismissively before turning around, stepping off the porch and down the steps of the red roofed house. “I’ll be back, you know.”
Tom bit the inside of his cheek as he said nothing, watching Tord go. He contemplated yesterday in all its events, all of his thoughts, and how phenomenally good he slept last night.
“There’s no rush!” Tom yelled to him, and he swore he saw Tord look over his shoulder, just to flip him off.