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Fluorescent lights buzzed over Matt’s head as they leaned over the mirror, trying their best to ignore the few pimples they did have— irritated red, splotchy patches that dampened the quality of their perfectly pristine skin. God, Matt, you’ve already applied patches, what more could you want, it's not like you can will away that stubborn teenage acne that's been stuck with you since you were 16— in favor of fixing their makeup for the millionth time.
Realistically, they were aware that they were already ready. They had been for a while now— they'd have to admit that, were they subject to the unforgiving hand of truthfulness, she who could only go one way.
It wasn't as if Matt themselves was unaware of their own attractiveness; they were more than just cognizant of their overwhelming charisma. The only thing was this image of themselves they sought to uphold, the one they preferred that everyone see… that version of Matt was above simple, inferior words like "perfection". They weren't just pristine, they weren't just royalty— They had no flaws at all.
So, even though they were acutely attuned to their own charming nature, appreciative of the way their outfit accentuated their beautiful curves & the way their ocean blue eyes seemed to brighten with the generous aid of the bright eyeshadow they were using, they couldn't help fussing over their appearance. Handsome wasn't enough.
After all, only the best was befitting of someone like Matt. They were so much more than just cute.
Even in situations like this, even when they knew that they'd be using tonight, that they'd not truly be able to control themselves after they got high, they could hope.
Hope to lay a good fuck, hope to get pictures for their Instagram that really captured their vibe…
Hope to have a good time and look amazing while doing it.
They had no idea how long they’d been like that— leaned over the sink, bony hips pressed into the edge of the cold counter-top— before they felt a presence behind them.
Without even having to look up, they knew it was Tord. Leaving the door open, really, was inviting him in. He was a sprite, an unwanted poltergeist. Despite being smaller, his presence in moments he miraculously appeared behind them could only be described as looming.
What a fucking parasite.
God, Matt loved him more than anything, but this was not the time.
The atmosphere of the room seemed to change when he was around; he carried an acute energy— sexual and intense in nature— that was impossible for Matt to ignore.
Of course, Matt hadn't expected the intrusion of their space. They probably should've, considering Tord had been "clingy", for a lack better wording, since they had started hooking up.
Matt really should've followed their tightly-set rules for hooking up— why the fuck would they ever consider screwing a guy they lived with?! From the beginning, the entire endeavor had been set up for failure.
Matt was used to being alone.
They were used to being wanted, being touched, needed— but not being pursued.
That, in part, was why their outfit was so skimpy tonight. Dressed in a tight-fitting crop top and leather booty shorts, the rest of their legs decorated with fishnets, Matt was enthralled by the sensation of blush creeping up his face as they felt the toothy Norwegian sizing them up like prey. They'd expected to be looked at tonight, already readied themselves for a blowjob or two— but that was nothing compared to this.
Initially, they'd meant to go to a party. That was all. They wanted to go out with some friends, do some drugs, possibly do things they'd regret & wake up with a few hickies by morning… it’s not like them and Tord were anything exclusive anyway.
It didn’t matter, right? Functionally, they were both single.
Even then, Matt’s outfit was provocative (even if it wasn't intended for Tord) and the man in question was a terrible pervert.
Tord uttered a low, appreciative hum as he leaned into Matt's supple form, bitter butterflies fluttering in Matt's own stomach as he curled lithe fingers into the fabric of their top and squeezed at their chest.
To make matters worse, Tord was already grinding against them from behind, disgusting and soft and… rock hard. Already. He was warm; smelled like that lotion he always used when he was…
God, what was wrong with him? Matt suddenly found themselves suspecting they weren't the only factor at play in Tord's growing need.
“Wait — !” Matt squeaked, gentle voice dying in their throat as they felt Tord rutting against their back shamelessly. Their eyelids— glistening under the bathroom’s fluorescent light from the purple, glimmering eyeshadow that adorned them— fluttered, full lashes already dampening against their freckled skin at the contact.
“I don't want to wait, Matt. I want you now.”
“You’re perfect like this. Faen, det verker… you know I can’t help myself. Not when you— not when you l-look like this.” Tord stuttered, his voice heavily accented with lust, teeth catching on his lower lip as he struggled to hold back broken whimpers before they could pass the boundary between his lips and open air.
Before their agreement had started, Tord had been a virgin. It wasn't as if he was lacking in any department, or bad at sex, or even unable to flirt.
Really, Matt had a hard time believing he'd not lost his v-card by 25. They had a hard time believing that Tord had not lost it long before that. It's not like people in Matt's area frequently got the opportunity to screw some Norwegian guy let alone one that was attractive, and…
Matt was really getting off task. They recognized themselves as caught up in the meaningless semantics of the moment as they quickly pulled themselves back into the situation at hand— getting away from Tord before he ruined their makeup and any chance of having fun with their friends.
Later, Tord would insist that it wasn't his fault he was like this. Matt had felt so good, so warm, so welcoming… so what if he didn't get much contact? That had nothing to do with this.
Why should he have to hold himself back, anyway? Matt didn’t seem like they minded.
The man in question, though, seemed conflicted. Their body reacted to every advance Tord made, and they could feel the situation in their poor lacy panties dampening as Tord continued grinding his very clear erection against their shorts with increasing urgency.
Still, Matt wanted to go to that party. They were stubborn, so much so that they didn't give up in situations where they probably should, and Tord fucking loved taking his time. If Matt let him have his way, they might as well give up on hanging out with friends this month— it wasn't easy to get everyone in the same place at the same time.
Despite his stubborn resolve, though, Matt’s embarrassment mixed with arousal, sick with indecision it as they struggled to understand what they wanted. More, less, to go to the party, to just be allowed to forget everything…
And in the plight of Matt's frustration, Tord wasn't even rewarding them with enough stimulation!
Tord seemed so content to get only himself off, grinding against Matt's back like there was no tomorrow, almost mocking Matt with the way he missed their clit— missed grinding against their entire pussy, for that matter. What a fucking prick.
Matt was going to lose it. They really needed to get going. They wanted to cum and then fix their makeup and possibly even kill Tord as revenge for ruining their night out.
They really wished he would just hurry it up, quit with the edging and give them what they both wanted. It wasn't as if this was merciful or loving, either— it was only an appetizer to him severely compromising Matt's ability to walk and think— so what was taking that prick so goddamn long?
If they'd not known better, they would've demanded more. Hell, they would've begged for Tord to get on with it, but they knew that would get them nowhere.
Tord only did things based on his intentions.
He was a living contradiction. He cared about Matt; but not enough to show it. Most people would care about getting their partner off properly, but Tord didn't.
Most people would care. Why couldn't Tord? Why would Tord choose someone like Matt when he knew that Matt's own entire existence banked on positive attention and their own self-absorption?
Matt couldn't think with the way Tord was grinding against them. They wanted to believe that they were more than this— more than a cheap whore that Tord could bend over anytime he wanted for a quick fuck— but it seemed that they weren't everything they'd thought themselves to be.
Matt, in a desperate plea for attention, decided to try their luck with convincing Tord to touch them.
“T-Tord—“ Matt whimpered, their voice barely a whisper. Matt knew that they'd never be quick enough for them to make it to the party now, but some stupid part of them hoped that there was a possibility.
Even if there wasn't, maybe they wouldn't be ridiculed by their roommates this time— Matt really had to work on being quieter.
Despite their cries, though, Tord didn’t seem to recognize that anything was wrong. Either that, or he just didn't care what they wanted to begin with.
“TORD!” Matt squealed, swallowing down the grimace as they thought about the fact that both of their roommates could hear them. The two were no stranger to the concept of Matt and Tord having sex— both had heard it, Tom had even caught them a couple times— but the idea of either of them knowing was humiliating. For fuck’s sake, the bathroom door was open! Couldn’t Tord at least have some decency when it came to quickies? The situation was already degrading as is; they didn't need any of Tord's weird kinks playing into the humiliation.
God, Matt was screwed. Tord had already likely cost them the party, they seemingly lacked a great amount of dignity, and on top of that, their makeup would be ruined. They'd spent hours getting ready, only to be left with nothing to show for it.
Perhaps, they thought, this had been Tord's plan all along. Maybe he was jealous of those Matt hooked up with outside of him, wanting nothing more than to have Matt all to himself— to use and to cherish, to build up and to destroy.
God, how hot would that be? Being treated like a pleasure doll, perhaps dressed up for Tord's own entertainment. The idea of Tord pulling them any which way he wanted enthralled Matt more than they would ever admit, the thought itself the kind of secret that you can't even whisper in front of mirrors for fear of your own reflection believing ill of you.
Their fantasies took up a great portion of their mind, distracted by their own perversions until Tord finally reacted to their insistent badgering. He seemed slow with arousal, his brain lagging a centuries behind the current moment. His eyes were glossy with pleasure, his lips spit-slicked and bitten from swallowing down filthy noises and praises for Matt's perfect body as he stared down at them, his hips tight as he restrained himself from bucking harder.
Unfortunately, he was really cute like this. It was hard to stay mad at him.
“Tord.. fuck. Can you get on with it? I- I have places to be. Don't fuck up my makeup, either." The freckled man muttered, their voice carrying an almost authoritative tone that caused Tord's shoulders to instantly tense.
Tord hated how it felt to be commanded into any role. He was always in control; he had to be in control. That was the way of life, the way of his safety.
Tord made it a point to clear his mind of every single request Matt had made in favor of teaching them a lesson.
Tord swiftly pulls Matt’s arms behind their back, paying no heed to the pained whimpers that come from the tall ginger. Why should he care when Matt had the guts to disrespect him? If they wanted to play pretend, act as if they were commanding, Tord could show them commanding.
“You just can’t listen. I- I was going to let you go, you know,”
"It would've been quick— one and done. I get you off, you get me off, and you go back to whatever you had to do this evening. I leave you alone."
Tord mutters, pulling Matt’s shorts down their hips with a single hand. It’s clear he doesn’t care; he doesn’t want to stall for time anymore. It's not like Matt's wearing anything of substance, anyway; it's not really a loss.
He grunts in frustration, seemingly still irritated with Matt's earlier attitude as he pulls off the rest of their garments, briskly shoving their panties into their mouth in a brazen display of annoyance regarding the Brit's prior attitude.
Left nude, every noise they make now muffled by their fucking underwear in their mouth, they are now incredibly aware that the bathroom door is still open.
Tord’s hand reels back, slapping against Matt’s now-bare cunt hard enough for Matt to let out a muffled cry. If it had been anyone else, Tord likely would have slapped them straight across the face… but Tord knows that wouldn't slide with Matt.
The interaction would be over in an instant; anything regarding Matt's face had to be gentle. They were fragile, graceful; their face was the focal point of their look. It was not something they were comfortable with Tord disgracing.
Tord doesn't want to upset Matt, either. It's deeper than superficial anger or revenge— he wants to humiliate them.
So, as he usually would, Tord decides that he wants to push limits until he receives his desired reaction.
Matt winces at the sensation of their arms being harshly pulled behind their back, their mouth opening to complain, but seeing as they still have panties shoved between their lips, it's to no avail— and even if they were not gagged, Tord could not care any less about them. He doesn't bother thinking as his free hand makes its way down to their already soaked cunt, abundantly grateful for the fabric that he'd shoved in Matt's mouth— and its ability to silence Matt's protests…
Not that there were any. Matt wanted this.
God, it's horrifying. By now, Matt would've had every chance to call out their safe word— they know it by heart, Tord made sure of that much the first time they'd had sex— but they don't seem to truly want to.
Their brain is a foggy, muddled mess… but it feels so good to be at such a disposition.
Tord has the advantage here; his hands are bigger than Matt's, his fingers longer— perhaps just another thing that's to Tord's advantage— and Matt can't truly remember the last time they've been fingered like this. With every draw that drags outwards across their insides, the pads of Tord's nimble fingertips melt at Matt's brain as he rubs at that particularly sensitive nub,and they're rapidly approaching orgasm before their brain can catch up to the sensations overtaking them.
Flushed, panting, moaning and biting at the panties Tord had unceremoniously shoved into their mouth, begging Tord not to stop, they're embarrassing themselves, but they don't care.
Matt never liked being humiliated, or at least that was what they wanted to believe about themselves. They were practically royalty, a beacon of perfection built specifically for princess treatment… but the truth of it, really, was that Matt got wetter from this than they ever had from any of their normal hookups.
The door was wide open, and deep down they weren't just aware of the fact that someone could walk in at any time— they hoped someone would. Even just a glimpse of them was incapable of being innocent— there was no other viable explanation for Matt being bent over with their panties stuffed in their mouth— and perhaps that was what made it so arousing. There was a risk to it; Matt had everything to lose.
Skirting the edge of loss itself was enough to build them up, up, up, until they dream only of falling from that euphoric crest… and Tord was suddenly pulling away without another word spoken to soothe their crestfallen expression.
He had to be fucking joking.
Matt wanted nothing more than to scream, to demand that Tord give them their well-deserved orgasm, but the disconnect between actual words and their mouth were wide. Even if they wanted to speak, the fabric stuffed into their mouth was doing them no justice, and they quickly found that only whimpers and moans left their lips regardless.
They were being fucked stupid, losing the ability to comprehend the world around them as they fell deep into Tord's grasp.
God, had it actually been long enough for them to be in subspace already? Was Tord really that good?
The thing was, for Matt, subspace wasn't something they could just slip into. It was more like a headfirst tumble; a leap lead upside down with no sense attached, doomed to barrel through the air at high speeds & without Tord caring to even attempt to catch them.
Fuzzy feelings took over their mind as they leaned their head forwards against the mirror, cold glass cooling the warmth of a sex-heated body whilst Tord quickly entered them, careless to the point that he didn't even give them the time to adjust.
If Matt had wanted someone sensible or kind, they knew that they would've been better off with someone else entirely. They were inclined to believe that they deserved better, surrounded by people who told them that was the case every single day, but there was something so much more interesting about the way Tord treated them.
Despite being perfect, Matt didn't want perfect— they didn't want anything near it. They wanted Tord.
No "perfect boyfriend" could ever give Matt orgasms this good; that kind of sex only came from the strange, indescribable relationship that Matt and Tord had fostered after spending 4 or so years living in a house together.
Surrounded by people like Tom and Edd— unique in their own right, but truly ordinary in essence— Tord was a complete enigma to Matt, something that they'd never been able to figure out. The fear that they'd never understand him only made it all the more arousing that they'd had so many sexual encounters, especially given the fact that Matt still could not discern his intentions with them.
He could be kind and caring, cold and calculating, or even bubbly and sociable— Matt had no idea who the real Tord was. All they knew about him, the only truth that held fast to every test thrown at them throughout the enormity of their shared adventures, was that Tord only cared about himself.
Really, the nature of Tord's ability to care— or lack thereof— should have concerned them, but it didn't. If all the flags were red, then Matt was a fucking bull.
To them, Tord's carelessness was arousing, even if they wouldn't ever admit as such. Not that they had to— their body betrayed them the moment that Tord breached them with reckless abandon.
Squirming, their trembling form locked up tight, leaving nothing to do but surrender to the onslaught of sensation that was overwhelming them. It was embarrassing, really. They could've came at any other time and it would have been normal, but their body had chosen to betray them, preferring the sensation of Tord entering them combined with the knowledge that he was apathetic to how they felt.
It was more than obvious, and Tord picked up on it immediately, but his jeers were short-lived. The sensation of Matt's heat seemed to bewitch him; caught betwixt the supple skin of their thighs and the feeling of being buried deep within the other man.
Tord's grip on their hips was tight enough to bruise, his hips snapping forward and back at a staccato pace that Matt was half-sure could break some sort of world record regarding speed. God, Tord was really being merciless here— and there was no doubt in Matt's mind that he was doing it on purpose.
Matt ducked themselves further below the mirror, not caring to see the disheveled mess that Tord had made them into. They could feel mascara streaming down their face, bothered by how Tord had smeared their lipstick across their cheek when he'd shoved their panties into their mouth— but there was nothing that they could do aside from accept it.
It's not like their frustration was important, anyway. If it had been, they wouldn't be letting Tord fuck them.
Matt wanted to believe that they were still a reserved man— or, at least, that they were still reserved when it came to sex. They were best described as vanilla, maybe into some sort of praise, but never anything truly weird. They were deserving of only the best… but Tord seemed to open their eyes to the sheer arousal they experienced as a result of giving them the exact opposite of what they'd always said they wanted.
Of course, that wouldn't have been a problem— given Matt had been adequately equipped to know how to hide it. The true problem arose with just how much they fucking loved that shit. Their cunt was a traitorous messenger, gripping Tord like a vice as Tord continued punching rough thrusts into their cunt and whispering filthy praises into their ear that would make even the most experienced sex freaks blush. Matt's orgasms seemed to come in bountiful bundles, something that Matt themselves couldn't seem to understand at all. Typically, Matt wouldn't cum this often— at times they could go an entire hookup without experiencing a single orgasm— but Tord seemed hellbent on being special in every single way.
Where Matt wouldn't usually cum, they found themselves shaking with orgasm after merciless orgasm, the peaks and troughs of pleasure becoming their own personal torture as Tord coaxed sweet moan one after the other from their parted lips.
Matt was so distracted by Tord that they'd not had any chance to notice that the panties had slipped from their mouth long ago.
Tord, of course, didn't mind now, seeing as a makeshift gag had only been necessary when Matt was still capable of talking… and they didn't seem all too eager to yammer off at the moment.
Matt would let Tord do practically anything to them, given Tord just ask them nicely. He was different from everyone; better, hotter, and Matt was content to be just an experiment to him.
Even if they weren't, that was all that he'd ever view them as. If they weren't capable of shrinking themselves to fit into a role like that, maybe they didn't belong with Tord.
Maybe they didn't deserve someone like him.
Matt didn't know why they were letting this slide. God, they had no idea why they'd even consider letting something like this happen to them.
Usually they would have left for less, wouldn't have wasted their peace on becoming so conflicted, but they couldn't help themselves when they were with Tord.
Despite their inhibitions, despite every warning sign with "NO!" plastered across it in large lettering, Matt couldn't help surrendering themselves to Tord's commanding grip.
"You like that, huh?" Tord growled, hips driving him deeper still into Matt's sensitive heat.
Realistically, they knew that Tord wasn't expecting a response— he knew how fucked out they'd become— but they couldn't help showing their appreciation for him as they nodded eagerly, their poor pussy clamping down once again and milking him for all he was worth.
"Yeah, you love that. I know you do, baby, I can feel it. Taking me so well, such a good boy…" Tord groaned, one of his hands snaking down Matt's sweat-slicked stomach as it made a beeline for Matt's clit.
He didn't waste any time, rubbing in tight circles as Matt squirmed beneath him. Even with tears dripping down their face— presumably from overstimulation, seeing as Tord could go for so much longer than Matt had ever been capable of— Tord didn't seem to feel any sort of sympathy for the vampiric brit.
I mean… why should he? They'd been asking for it. Why stop now, when he was so close? If anyone deserved to get what they wanted, it was him.
Matt's poor body trembled from the repeated abuse, dregs of 4th orgasm overlapping with the latest and the 6th, crashing into meaningless waves that they could only drown beneath.
They couldn't keep track of how many times Tord had made them cum. Sex with Tord had a sort of sinister glow to it, something awful and self indulgent seeing as he was only chasing his own high, and Matt's mind mulled over just how pained they would be in the morning before they lost themselves to pleasure once again.
"Fuck, Matt, fuck." Tord groaned, seemingly reaching his own precipice. Matt could only assume his stamina had grown from those horrible habits of his— something to do with the 90GB of anime pornography on his computer— leaving Matt at his mercy for god knows how long now.
As Tord's thrusts ate away at their feeble mind, Matt didn't have it in them to care about anything but themselves, Tord's cock, and what they hoped to be the rapidly approaching ending to this horrible saga.
When this was all over, they'd have a lot to think about. God, talk about lending meaning to the words "post nut clarity".
They leaned themselves over the sink further, their meticulously styled hair flattening against the side of the mirror as they braced themselves to handle Tord's brutal pace, paying no heed to the way shadows shifted in the hallway. That could be future Matt's problem.
Right now, Matt just wanted Tord to cum.
They fancied himself with speeding up the pace of Tord's rapidly approaching orgasm, pulling out every stop they could think of in search of some sort of mercy. By now, their cunt was sore from Tord's rough usage, and all that they could think about was the shower they'd definitely be taking when Tord was done filling them like a pastry.
…Ugh. Nasty fucker, that one.
As they stood there, honest-to-god clamping down around Tord as if they were auditioning for the role of human snapping turtle using their pussy, it was as if some graceful god above heard their prayers.
With one final push, Tord's hips stilled, and with one last groan, he was finally spilling into them.
It was messy, disgusting, and degrading. All Matt could do was whimper at the feeling, slumped over the bathroom counter as Tord straightened himself, tucked himself back into his jeans, and swiftly left the room.
They had no idea what they were expecting, but the ease with which Tord left had them feeling a bit lonely now that the stupidity of their arousal was finally starting to wear off.
They were utterly alone, still-warm cum dripping from inside them and down their legs in a sickening symphony of disgusting sensation.
As they finally pushed themselves up from where they'd been bent, though, the last nail entered the coffin, adding insult to what was already a pretty life-ending looking injury— Tom was staring at them from across the hallway.
His door was propped open, half-drank flask still in hand, eyebrows raised and cheeks bright red from embarrassment, as Matt's blue eyes locked with Tom's void-like ones.
Fuck.
Why did it always have to be Tom? They could only wonder as Tom's expression shifted into that of tired disgust, retreating back into his room with a shake of his head.
Matt was ashamed, wondering what they had been thinking to do something like this. Tord was nowhere to be seen; Matt was just a quick fuck to him.
If he had been anyone else, that would've been okay— but Matt had been saying that all night. Despite Matt's vehement denial regarding the topic, Tord was different from everyone else. Not because he was hot, or because he was particularly good at laying pipe (ew), but because he meant something to Matt.
Matt wished, more than anything, that he didn't. Couldn't they just be normal about Tord? Sure, they'd been friends for years, Matt had even crushed on him for the majority of their high school years, but it didn't matter! Of course it didn't mean anything; they were both human. Humans get horny sometimes, and when they do, it's only natural that they have outlets to relieve some of that tension.
As Matt finally made their way into a resting position, they closed and locked the door behind them for the first time that night, tears starting to leak down their cheeks in streaks from the remaining of their mascara.
Matt just wanted one night where they'd get to go out and look pretty.
One night out with friends and nothing more, that's all they had asked for. All they'd ever wanted was a bit of solace from the maelstrom of feelings inside them; but even when they believed that they'd finally get the chance, Tord found himself pleased with the idea of ruining that, too.