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For the entirety of the day, Tord had seemed softer in nature. Edd couldn’t really place it; it was subtle enough to almost miss, his warmth minute enough that Edd couldn’t understand where it was coming from. Probably something to do with his projects, with the sleep he’d been losing, Edd thought. Nothing for him to concern himself with.
He’d been clingy for the entire day, demanding attention and love. By the time evening fell, Matt & Tom were conveniently out of the house. Some excuse about “shopping” when they probably just wanted to make out in the shared car somewhere, pulled off into some nondescript parking lot as they tangled their legs together and fogged up the windows. Honestly, Edd couldn't care less. Good for them, he thought. Their emotional buildup had been months in the making, if not longer.
Plus, Edd could hardly give a shit about Matt and Tom having sex— or whatever they were doing— when Tord looked this pretty. The light that filtered through the blinds had him golden, glowing from where he sat at the table. His eyelashes fluttered in time as he struggled in keeping himself awake, practically falling asleep into his coffee— and he looked adorable. Horribly so. Edd was smitten.
Tord had never been the type to be safe. The house he grew up in had been chaotic, and, as anyone would be, Tord had been a product of his environment. He was typically volatile, something of a ticking time bomb with a heavy-ass Norwegian accent. Pain surrounded him like some sort of second skin he couldn’t peel off; the sour expressions and yelling were practically his personality. He knew a lot of things, but he didn’t know peace.
There was something different about him today, though. Something Edd had been noticing more and more.
Usually, he’d withdraw when he was tired. Something about having less social energy, needing space, but he seemed peaceful this time around. It was as if he’d finally settled and hadn’t bothered anyone with the realization. He didn’t seem to bother with over-protecting himself.
Asleep at the table, Tord looked tender. He was off his guard.
“Hey, love,” Edd muttered, towering over the back of Tord’s chair as he came up behind him to rest warm palms on his shoulders and squeeze. It was nothing but an attempt at annoying Tord, knowing better than anyone that touch without any kind of precursor would piss the Norski off. That, truthfully, was what he was hoping for. A reaction. He flourished under the mere concept of Tord’s irritation.
Though, if anything, Tord didn’t seem to mind Edd as much as he usually would. Typically, he’d squirm away from the touch. At least make some offhanded comment about how Edd was being a dick. Instead, he leaned into it. He was itching for the company.
“Eddddddd…” he drawled, his voice as soft and smooth as freshly-churned butter. He turned himself in his chair, willing to quickly set aside his coffee without a second thought. It was cold regardless, and nothing was as strongly anchored into the forefront of his mind as Edd was.
“Kjære… bed?” He muttered, arms reaching up as if to prompt his boyfriend to carry him. Edd could never say no to him. It was impossible like this— with his arms up, lips glistening and his accent as thick as molasses. The twinkle in his eye was so blinding that it may as well be a mind-controlling device.
As was typical of the Brit, Edd didn’t immediately clock what Tord was hinting at. Tord typically had to initiate, and this time was no different. With the Norwegian snuggly fit into his arms, he carried him off to bed, his attitude all love and respect. His arms were tight around Tord as he settled into bed with him, fingertips scratching gently at his scalp as he relaxed into him… and Tord began to pull at his zipper. That’s what he meant. Edd went a bright, burning shade of crimson.
“T—Tord,” he whispered, his eyes flitting down to where the norski’s hands had already worked his fly halfway open. He found himself getting hard so quickly that there was no real point in feigning shyness or restraint.
“Yeah..?” Tord responded, watching Edd’s expression with something very akin to amusement. He was sly like this, mischievous. Foxlike. Edd felt an insatiable pull to put him in his place.
“Tord…”
“Edd..?”
Edd didn’t even bother properly responding, his hands making quick work of Tord’s garments. Tord’s ragged breaths only served to heighten his arousal, a warm hand catching Tord’s wrist as fingers clasped around it tightly. He quickly maneuvered himself on top of the boy, taking great pride in Tord’s bewildered expression. His goal— his ultimate aim— was to see Tord becoming truly pliant. Tord was always pulling reactions out of him, always getting him to squeak because he was flustered or groan because of just how tight he was, and Edd couldn’t complain… but he yearned to switch the tables. He wanted to prove a point that he could use to tease him later.
This wasn’t the first time Edd had topped. Most nights, he was on top. It was quicker, easier, and seeing as Tord’s anatomy was fit for it, it meant less prep… but he indulged in the actual role much less. They didn’t usually have the time on their hands required for a proper scene, abandoning any ideas that weren’t vanilla because of it— but today was different. Edd was offered the opportunity to take his time, and he wasn’t going to pass it up.
With Tord laid carefully beneath him, Edd’s mind lended itself to fantasies of the boy tied up—his gaze drifting, almost absentmindedly, to the ribbon left forgotten on the bedside table.
Its meaning, previously, had not been something like this. It had something to do with an easy decorative arrangement for a project, something he’d never gotten to, the materials lying around his room in corners and in drawers. The thing was already unused by the time it was being bound around Tord’s wrists.
With his arms bound behind his back, the position was a tad awkward. To pull Tord upright meant pulling him forward, heating him whimper with the strain it brought his body, Edd reacting in kind with a hum of reassurance and a slight change of position. Didn’t mean to hurt you. Tonight, Edd wanted to be gentle. He wanted Tord to tremble with the love that constantly took over his life, their connection so overwhelmingly strong that Tord would never forget where he belonged. He wanted to make Tord feel better than he ever had, to prove a point that silenced his wandering soul. This was where he was meant to be— nowhere else.
Gentle, loving hands trailed down Tord’s body, fingertips ghosting downwards through the hair that decorated his lower stomach as Edd looked reverently into soft, grey eyes. He couldn’t help admiration for the changes that testosterone had done to his boyfriend’s body, for how comfortably he had grown into a vessel that he once vehemently claimed wasn’t his. The criticizing was long gone, the weak requests of “Can I keep my binder on? Just this once?” a ghost in the face of surgery scars that beautifully decorated his chest. Edd was more in love with Tord now than he had ever been in his life, just seeing him truly happy and confident.
By the time that things were getting serious, Tord was already long gone. He slipped into subspace easily, quickly—thinking no longer seemed worth the effort when it came so naturally to let Edd take control.
The moment that Edd had bound his arms were bound behind his back, he’d started to drift, and before long Edd found his wish realized—Tord pliant beneath him. Full control had been handed to him like it was no more serious than the gift of a dish that needed washing, and Edd was in love with it. He craved that kind of trust.
The sight of Tord this undone had him transfixed, fingertips nervously brushing through dripping folds as he took in just how viscerally he’d aroused Tord. The Norwegian was, to put it quite literally, wet. The wettest that Tord had ever felt him before he’d been able to truly do anything.
His thumb brushed the poor boy’s clit gently, avoiding overwhelm as he watched his hips jerk into the timid touch.
It was aching, tender and drawn out, love expressed through every movement as minutes stretched in a way only sex could define as Edd angled his fingers to better catch the most sensitive parts of Tord’s body. Time seemed to soften at its edges, broken and melting as Edd admired the way Tord’s body wound itself up without any instruction.
Barely any time at all— 5 minutes— seemed to morph into an eternity, Edd’s fingers pummeling into Tord until he was squirming, whispering something about being close, and Edd was relenting without a word. He paid no attention to Tord’s whimpers, to his desperate attempts to coax Edd into touching him again. He wasn’t quite ready to let Tord cum. Not on only his fingers.
Without another word, Edd pushed Tord up and into position, finally entering him whilst setting the poor Norwegian’s body alight.
Edd had no idea what he had expected, having been rubbing tantalizing circles into his clit just to watch him scream and brace against his arm in pleasure, but the sight itself transfixed him. He would never get tired of watching the Norwegian convulse in pure pleasure.
“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed, his hips finally meeting Tord’s pelvis with a wet slap. He was sensitive from orgasm, tender and squirming, but Edd didn’t stop. If he knew anything about Tord, it was that “overstimulation” wasn’t a brick wall when they were having sex. If anything, it was a green light. A welcome sign. Tord wanted nothing but more, and Edd was the only one who could give it to him in the way he desired.
“You’re perfect like this,” Edd muttered, his hips stuttering in quick thrusts forward that sent shockwaves through Tord’s core as he listened to his moans only growing in volume.
“So tight, fuck,” he groaned, his nails digging into Tord’s hips as his speed picked up substantially. The sight of Tord below him only drove him further into ecstasy, only brought him to be rougher, faster. He felt as if he was losing his mind as they blurred together.
The onslaught of sensation had Tord drooling under him, shaking as he struggled to keep up with what he was being given. He didn’t seem to be capable of comprehending anything but Edd’s presence behind him, his sheer weight, and the need his own body supplied him with. He was willing to do anything Edd asked him to.
“You’re doing so well, baby,” Edd panted, his own body wearing out quicker than he would have liked. Sex was always shorter for them— short & sweet, Edd had always joked— and Edd felt his own body reaching an end with Tord squeezing around him so perfectly. He was so close to reaching that perfect point…
Driving into him harder, Edd’s grunts became less exertion and more pleasure. He needed to cum so badly, wanted to fill Tord up…
“Edd, please…” Tord whimpered, his voice so quiet at first that Edd could barely make it out.
“Please. Finish in me,” he mumbled, letting his body give way into Edd as he was held up and used. He was tired already, so pliant, so well behaved.
Edd only nodded at the request, letting his hips do the work until his breath caught on his impending orgasm. Spilling inside the Norwegian, he felt himself slipping from that dominant role and into something softer. He wondered for Tord’s wellbeing as he pulled out of him, wondered how well he’d done for him, all questions that couldn’t truly be answered while Tord was in this state.
For Tord’s wellbeing, he chose not to ask just yet.
Instead, he stayed.
Careful hands replaced previously harsh sensations, easing Tord back down against the sheets, brushing damp hair from his face in a way that felt almost unfamiliar after everything that had come before. Tord looked distant—soft around the edges, pliant in that quiet, trusting way that always made something in Edd’s chest ache.
“Hey,” he murmured, quieter now, like he was afraid to break something fragile. His thumb traced absent patterns against Tord’s arm, grounding, repetitive. “You with me?”
There wasn’t much of an answer, not a proper one. Just a shift, a small sound, something instinctive as he curled himself into the nearest source of warmth.
Edd exhaled, tension he hadn’t noticed still clinging to him finally starting to ebb. He adjusted the blankets around them, pulling Tord closer without thinking about it, more protective than possessive now.
He could wait.
He would wait until Tord came back to him fully, until he could ask those questions and get real answers, until he knew for sure that everything had been right.