Complete Again (TomTord Mpreg)

One

Before he had moved out, Tord rarely let himself go into Tom's room. The Brit would either throw shit until he left the doorway, or they'd start to argue, and Edd would have to break it up. On the rare occasion that he was let in, however, he and Tom almost always ended up fucking. It was always anything but passionate, always hasty and incredibly rough from the fear of getting caught. Tord would never call it 'making love' in any sense of the word.

Their relationship was strange - only in Tom's room did they ever engage in this. They agreed to keep it a secret, unsure what Matt and Edd would think if they found out. The second either of them left the room, they would simply act like nothing had happened and return to hating one another. Tord knew he could never bring himself to fully hate Tom - he associated him with such passionate sex and such gentle aftercare that it was almost impossible. Tord would even dare to say that he had enjoyed Tom's presence, the problem being that the only time he had ever been close enough to Tom to have his scent in his senses was when the Brit was buried to the hilt in him, muting any noise he could be making by biting and kissing hickies into Tord's neck.

Now that Tord had to stay in a room full of that scent, he was nearly suffocating on his arousal. He knew that Tom's scent had imprinted on him before he left, but he never thought it was this severe, this toxic. It had been eight years - Tord should have gotten over this! Yet, the musky, alcohol-esque scent that hung heavy over the room was driving him mad. He almost wished that Tom followed through with Edd's deal.

Edd favored Tord upon his arrival, and had kindly asked Tom to sleep on the sofa. Tom refused, saying that it was his room now and Tord would have to accept that, whether he liked it or not. Edd didn't let it go, however, and forced Tom to set up an inflatable mattress on the floor of his room for Tord. A makeshift bed covered in the intoxicating smell of Tom. The blankets, the pillows, all if them were the Brit's.

Tord was going to go insane.

His cock was aching, pressed painfully against his stomach as he lay awake on the makeshift bed. He had pushed the blankets away from himself hours ago - his body was too hot, twitching with need. Tom had long since fallen asleep, his gentle breathing becoming the only sound Tord could focus on. Tord's breathing was shallow, struggling to hold in his arousal. He didn't know what do to.

If he touched himself and Tom woke up, Tom would likely beat the shit out of him before telling Edd and Matt that he was a pervert. If he left it alone, he would never be able to sleep, and would be in agony all night. Tord couldn't believe himself - he was the leader of an entire fucking army, and he was pining over someone as insignificant as Thomas-fucking-Ridge.

He knew with every fiber of his being what he wanted, but he was terrified to ask for it. A heavy pondering silence fell over the room, barely broken by Tord's quickened and hitched breaths. He bartered with himself, mentally trying to talk himself out of what he was about to do.

"Tom," he choked, his tensed shoulder lifting as he held back a groan. Nothing.

"T-Thomas-"

A quiet whine. Groggy mumbling and the creak of the bed as he shifted to get a better look at the Norwegian. "The fuck do you want...?" Tom growled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Tord carefully sat up and moved to sit with his legs crossed as both he and the inflatable mattress groaned in protest. From the side of the bed, Tom could only see Tord from the chest and up, hiding the upright bulge in his boxers.

"Can I come up?" He mumbled, earning a chuckle from Tom.

"Shit's the same down there as it is up here."

Tord sat up a bit taller, his breath audibly hitching as his cock brushed the side of Tom's bed. Tord forced himself to maintain his composure, rather than moaning desperately at any touch he could get.