Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A strangled sound left Matt’s parted lips as Tom gently pulled out of his spent form, palms gently pressing against the ginger’s freckled hips in an attempt to soothe him. Matt’s entire body trembled at Tom’s decision to finally let up; His long lashes fluttering adorably as he struggled to catch his breath after hours of over-stimulation at Tom’s unforgiving hand.

Tears streamed down Matt’s face as his chest rose and fell with bated breaths, Tom’s eyebrows knitting with concern as he observed the thoroughly disheveled man below him. He wondered if he’d gone too far, observing the way that Matt’s entire form trembled as Tom unbound his wrists from where they’d been bound behind his back. 

Shoving the glimmering lilac ribbon to the side with little care, Tom brought his attention back to his exhausted boyfriend.

“You were so good for me, pretty boy. Are you okay? Did I go too far?” Tom murmured, voice low and reverent as he reached into the bedside table with the intent of finding a rag that could wipe up the mess he’d made of Matt’s lower half.

The Brit whimpered as the soft cloth dragged across his still-sensitive skin, Tom gently shushing him and planting kisses across his face in sympathy.

This was all Tom had ever wanted. He was right where he wanted to be.

“M’ okay,” Matt hummed, his voice soft and broken as a result of just how loud he’d been for Tom. He pawed at Tom’s arms as he spoke, trying (and failing) to bring the shorter man into a warm embrace.

“Matt,” Tom warned, a sense of urgency in his voice. “I need to clean you up, handsome.”

Tom made quick work of the shivering Brit; his calm and tender touch starkly contrasting the rough handling he’d been giving Matt just a few minutes before. Soft golden light fell upon them as it filtered through the blinds, leaving Tom awestruck over how ethereal Matt was.

Matt was spread out enchantingly on the bed before him, his chest slowly rising and falling as he surrendered to Tom’s will. His pink lips were parted just slightly, glistening beautifully as he let out quiet breaths. Stunning golden freckles peppered every inch of his body in perfect clusters; His beauty so amazingly intentional that Tom was tempted to believe the ginger had been blessed by Aphrodite herself. 

Tom felt himself becoming entranced by the ginger’s beauty, wondering how it was possible he had gotten so lucky as he quickly wrapped up the arduous task that was clean-up. It was only when Matt let out a noise, soft and broken, that Tom found himself being broken out of his thoughts.

“Tommmmm,” Matt uttered, his voice rising eagerly as loving arms reached up at Tom to grab his attention. 

“Yeah? What do you need?” Tom hummed, gently scooping Matt’s still-nude body up and into his arms. 

“Attentionnnnnnn,” Matt whined, his voice high and needy– and absolutely adorable.

He had only just escaped the fuzzy state of subspace, and the thoughts that swirled in his head were still centered around himself. Stupid, stupid Matt was Tom’s idea of perfection. He’d have to kick himself for that later– preferably after giving the Brit the kisses he very much deserved.

Tom shook his head, huffing out a soft laugh that left the man below him grinning in response.

“You’re so needy, princess…” Tom flirted, brushing a soft lock from Matt’s face as he leaned down to connect their lips.

“Princess?” Matt questioned, pulling back as his voice rose with confusion.

“Princess. You’re acting like one.” Tom teased, planting kisses across the bridge of Matt’s nose to observe as his cheeks grew rosy and he began to giggle giddily.

He was so fucking cute. Tom was lucky, screwed, and irrevocably in love all at once.

“I am NOT,” Matt quipped back, mouth drawing into a badly faked frown.

“Shh,” Tom whispered, pulling Matt impossibly closer as the ginger squirmed indignantly. He looked down at the Brit as he took another breath, bracing himself for what he was about to say.

“You know I really love you, right?”

Matt grinned– no, he beamed. His smile was so wide that Tom suspected his cheeks would surely ache sooner rather than later.

“I know, idiot. I love you too,” Matt replied, pressing a gentle kiss to Tom’s stomach.

“Gross, Matt. Don’t kiss me there” 

Matt scoffed, faking offense, his jaw dropping as he pressed a hand to his own chest for dramatic effect. His nails glittered as they caught the light, painted in vibrant colors that contrasted Matt's skin perfectly.

“You want to tell me what’s gross? You. You– When you were just inside me?”

Tom groaned. He knew it was coming; he never got any kind of peace when he was with Matt. He had a way of making romantic moments strange.

“Matt,” Tom sighed, with no real malice behind his words. If Matt was anyone else, he would never get away with this.

“What? Am I wrong?” Matt teased, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

Tom wanted to punch him, kiss him, and fuck him all over again all at once. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “You’re insufferable.”

Matt just beamed wider, leaning in to brush a kiss against his jaw. “And you love it.”

It was undeniable that Tom, in fact, did. 

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you.” 

Matt hummed, nuzzling his cheek against Tom’s. “Take care of me by… feeding me. I’m hungry.” 

Tom pulled back to stare at him, deadpan. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

Matt’s grin only widened. “What? Starving over here.” 

“I literally fed you before we had sex, Matt.”

Matt only pouted, sticking out his plump bottom lip as he looked at Tom.

Tom groaned, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You’re insufferable.”

Still, he swung his legs off the bed.

 “Fine. But if you want pancakes at—” he glanced at the clock, “—two in the morning, you’re helping me make them.”

Matt beamed, bouncing his body off of the bed before Tom could even finish his sentence.

But his excitement had clearly outpaced the very few abilities his over exhausted body had. With a sudden wobble, his legs gave out beneath him, and he started to topple forward.

“Oi, careful!” Tom lunged, catching him mid-fall and steadying him against his chest.

Matt let out a soft, helpless laugh. “Guess… I got… carried away…”

After a moment of much-needed silence, Matt nuzzled into Tom’s chest, half-lidded eyes barely open. “Pancakes… now…” he murmured, voice soft and lazy.

Tom huffed a laugh, shifting him slightly to carry him more securely. “You do realize you can’t even stand, right? This is entirely your fault. I mean– you were asking for it.”

Matt grinned up at him, teeth just barely visible. “Totally worth it.”

Tom’s steps echoed in the quiet apartment, each reminding him how ridiculous the situation was. Naked, post-sex, two a.m. pancakes—it was a disaster waiting to happen if anyone walked in. He glanced nervously toward the living room, muttering, “Please don’t let anyone be awake…”

Matt giggled softly, draping an arm around Tom’s neck. “Relax, you’re my hero. You’re always my hero.”

Tom wrapped him snugly in a blanket, muttering, “Heroes have reputations too.” Great, now he was a half-naked hero carrying a post-sex pancake-demanding ginger across the kitchen—how’s that for dignity?

Tom muttered to himself as he rifled through the cabinets for pancake mix, flinching at every little sound. No way could anyone catch him like this—Edd would never let him live it down if he didn’t beat him to a pulp for letting a naked Matt sit exposed on the counter in only a blanket.

Locating the mix with ease, Tom grabbed it along with a whisk and a bowl. Every creak of the cabinets or clatter of a utensil made him flinch; the thought of anyone walking in on the scene made his stomach twist.

Matt mumbled something incoherent from where he rested against the counter, head leaning on the cabinets, and Tom just huffed a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Pancakes. Coming right up.”

He measured the mix, poured the milk, and stirred slowly, careful not to spill a drop while keeping a watchful eye on Matt. Every motion was a delicate dance: keep Matt from toppling off the counter, mix the batter, and move like a ninja chef.

The situation had him ridiculously choked up in no time. Caring for Matt—cooking for him while desperately trying to maintain some shred of dignity—was overwhelming. He was struck by just how lucky he was to be here, in this absurd, intimate moment. Maybe he really was as soft as Matt always thought he was… and, surprisingly, he was more okay with that than he ever thought he would be.

The rest of the night was a blur of soft kisses, quiet laughter, and whispered nonsense that made no sense to anyone but them. They shuffled from the kitchen and back into Tom’s bedroom, wrapped in blankets and each other, half-eating pancakes and half-dozing off mid-bite. Matt would nuzzle Tom’s neck at random intervals, murmuring sleepy compliments, and Tom would laugh, tugging him closer and stealing another lazy kiss in response.

Somehow, between the ridiculousness of naked late-night pancake runs and Matt’s endless charm, everything felt perfect. The chaos, the silliness, the vulnerability—it all melted into warmth and comfort. Despite the absurdity of it all, despite how utterly ridiculous they must look, there was nowhere Tom would rather be than here, wrapped up in Matt, heart ridiculously full, and completely, undeniably in love.

Chapter Text

If you told Edd from a year ago that he would end up wearing a maid dress for Tord under any circumstances, he would probably punch you. Or cry. Or both.

Now, here he was, standing in his own goddamn living room as his hands tugged nervously at the frilly apron that didn’t exactly match his face. The skirt was barely long enough where it really mattered– and to make things worse, Tord had insisted he go bottomless. Every time he bent over, Tord would hum, clearly pleased with himself as he got an eyeful of the poor brunette’s dripping length.

“Don’t just stand there.” Tord said, voice smooth and amused as he laid a swat across Edd’s exposed ass. 

“The floor isn’t going to clean itself.”

Edd yelped at the impact, jaw clenching tightly. He hated that he could pinpoint exactly where Tord’s eyes were lingering. Hated it, absolutely—yet a tiny, infuriating part of him didn’t.

The weight of Tord’s attention pressed on him, making him jittery and oddly aware of every movement. His thighs squeezed together instinctively as he suffered from his own desperation. He wanted—no, needed—to be good for Tord more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. Every nerve in his body was wound tight, trembling with anticipation and frustration, and it terrified him how much he wanted Tord to notice, to approve, to keep looking.

“Y-yes, sir.” Edd breathed, trying his best to sound obedient while his knees threatened to buckle.

Tord, of course, didn’t move a muscle. He just smiled, watching every small movement with that infuriatingly calm attention. The soft click of his jeans unbuckling—or maybe the faint shuffle of fabric—made Edd shiver despite himself.

He did his best to ignore the wet noises coming from behind him, despite the fact they seemed to echo through the room with excruciating volume. 

As Edd brushed away the dirt from around the bookcase, his thoughts refused to cooperate. He had tried—truly tried—to focus on anything else, to push down the heat creeping into his cheeks. But no matter how hard he tried, sinful thoughts of Tord crept into his mind. His fingers trembled slightly against the edge of the bookcase, and his stomach fluttered in that maddening way that made him wish the floor would just swallow him whole.

He couldn’t think of anything else. Not the floor, not the bookcase, not a single coherent thought—only Tord. Tord on top of him, Tord’s dick fit snugly down his throat, Tord fucking into him as if Edd were just an object to be used to his own pleasure. Thoughts of everything they could do filled Edd’s head until he was painfully hard, whimpering and tugging at the hem of the dress like it would give him any sort of relief.

He practically leapt out of his skin when Tord’s voice cut through the room from behind him, spinning around without a second thought. 

“Come here, Edd,” Tord drawled, low and teasing, his voice causing heat to pool in the brunette’s stomach as he approached without so much as a second thought.

Of course, as was typical of them, Tord was so straightforward it caught Edd off guard.

Less-than-gentle hands wrenched him forwards, a warm palm wrapping around his neglected cock before he could even ask for it. 

Edd mewled, his entire body jerking forwards as Tord stroked him mercilessly. He couldn’t help the way his dick practically drooled into the Norsk’s clenched fist, warm and inviting in a way that left the poor Brit’s head spinning.

“Yeah? You like that?” Tord teased, a cruel laugh slipping out as he watched Edd shivering before him. In response, the taller man could only nod furiously, lips forming into a pretty pink “o” shape as he lost himself in the pleasure.

Just as soon as it had come, the delicious friction was gone. Edd was about to whimper when Tord manhandled him onto his stomach, bending him over one of the couches arms and standing behind him with the attitude of a man that had absolutely no shame over his own perversion.  

The way Tord was treating him– as if he were only a toy to fulfill his desires– left the Brit feeling more aroused than he’d ever be willing to admit.

Edd whimpered as the skirt of his maid dress was tugged higher, greedy hands spreading him open for Tord to see. He recognized the faint popping of a lube cap from where Tord stood behind him.

“Mmf… only an hour?” Edd teased, voice low and teasing. “I thought you said you wanted to last longer.”

“I would’ve, if you hadn’t been tempting me. Fucking slut.” 

Edd shivered at Tord’s tone, harsh words having a profound effect on him. Edd covered his mouth as a shaky moan escaped his lips, pushing his hips back as Tord sunk his index finger into his warm heat. He’d wanted this so badly– despite insisting he wasn’t even into it.

Tord couldn’t help but grunt at the way Edd clenched, adding finger after finger until three unrelenting fingers thrusted themselves in and out of Edd’s ass at a steady rhythm.

The unforgiving pace– consistent and weirdly gentle– was enough for Edd to lower his guard. His entire body melted into the arm of the couch, the only thing holding him up as he let out tiny, pleased sounds with every movement of Tord’s fingers inside him.

Of course, as was typical of him, Tord didn’t let the peace last.

It was clear Tord’s fingers were looking for something, prodding and searching– but Edd couldn’t bring himself to care… until the cheeky Norwegian finally hit his target.

Edd’s entire body jolted, letting out an embarrassingly loud moan whilst Tord set his entire body ablaze with pleasure. He paid no heed to pleas of the chestnut-haired boy; Tord continued his own pace whilst ignoring Edd’s pleading until a very specific string of words left the man’s throat.

“Tord– nhhgg– I’m close.” 

Edd really wished he hadn’t said anything as soon as the broken phrase left his mouth, Tord’s fingers withdrawing from where they’d been curling into him so beautifully only moments before.

Edd groaned, holding back his protests. Tord was never gentle when it came to handling defiance, and Edd had learned that the hard way over countless sessions just like this. By now, he knew exactly what would get him in trouble—and exactly how far he could push before Tord snapped.

Tord’s hands gripped Edd’s upper arms, guiding him down until he sank into the couch cushions. Edd’s breath hitched, heart hammering, and a shiver ran down his spine—he couldn’t deny that he wanted this more than anything. He wanted Tord’s firm, unyielding touch, the way he took control. Every press of the cushions, every sharp pull of Tord’s hands making his body respond before Edd could even attempt to minimize the damage.

Tord chuckled darkly above him, his accent thickening in a way that made Edd’s stomach flip violently.

“Like this, kjære,” he murmured, voice low and commanding. “I want you to look at me while I fuck you.”

Fuck. It wasn’t even fair for him to be this hot.

Edd’s eyes caught on Tord’s hands as he watched the Norwegian’s hand glide across his own dick, coating himself with lube until he seemed satisfied enough to press himself against Edd.

Tord lined himself up at Edd’s entrance and grabbed onto his hips, popping the tip inside. Tord’s head tipped back at the tightness; Edd being wound up so tightly that it made the usually tight squeeze even harder to handle.

“Relax for me, baby.” Tord muttered, his touch gentling as he rubbed his warm palms gently into the small of Edd’s back.

Edd hummed at this, the coil that had kept his body bound so tightly loosening as he relaxed into the soft cushions below him. 

“You take me so well,” Tord murmured, enunciating every word with rough thrusts that left the man under him reeling.

Tord was so deep inside him, rolling his hips into him steadily whilst the Brit could only moan and squirm under him.

He was completely helpless, and he loved it.

“You’re so pretty like this. You like being in a dress for me? Wanna be my pretty girl, bending over for me anytime I ask you?” Tord’s thrusts quickened, the heat building in Edd’s thrusts at the meticulous way he took him apart. Despite being chaotic, there was a very particular sense of sureness in Tord’s every movement; Reaching down to jerk Edd with thrusts as he felt the man’s hole swallowing around him.

“Fuck, Tord. ‘s so good–” Edd breathed, breath beginning to quicken as he reached his peak. The wave of pleasure that washed over him– harsh and all-consuming– left him gasping, nails sinking into Tord’s arm as he scrambled to find purchase amidst rapid thrusts that left him shaken.

He was left shattered as he came down, the Norwegian above him only continuing to thrust into his overstimulated heat. Tord’s eyebrows knitted in concentration, chasing his own orgasm as if he were an animal chasing its prey. 

Finally, he reached it– not quite as loud as Edd had been as he spilled into him. He could only offer Edd a smug grin as he pulled out, his seed flowing from the brunette’s wrecked hole and onto the couch cushions below him. Jesus Christ, did he have to be so shameless?

Edd could barely catch his breath, his chest rising and falling erratically as the mess spread beneath him. His face burned with a mixture of exhaustion and humiliation, though he refused to give Tord the satisfaction of even tugging his skirt back down.

“...You’re disgusting,” he muttered weakly.

Tord only smirked wider, leaning down to brush his lips against Edd’s ear.
“Maybe I am. But you love it.”

Chapter Text

Edd truly believed he was unstoppable with his newfound powers. Flying, laser eyes, freeze breath, super strength, super speed—he had it all. And even as the glow dimmed and the strength ebbed ever so slightly, the lingering charge in his veins had him puffed up, disgustingly smug over the fact he could float a few measly inches off the ground.

“Careful,” Tom rumbled, voice low and distorted, monstrous frame contrasting Edd’s smaller one deliciously. “Someone might mistake you for useful.”

Edd only smirked wider, arms crossed. “You’re just jealous I can hover. Bet you wish you were this graceful.” He kicked his legs like a show-off, rising just enough to meet Tom’s eyes—only for a massive hand to close around his ankle and yank him back down like he weighed nothing.

“I–I could defeat you if I wanted to, you know. I’m just being nice,” Edd tried, voice pitching higher with each word. Tom’s grip didn’t even twitch. He wouldn’t need rope to restrain him, Edd realized with a shiver—just one hand pressing down would be more than enough.

“You couldn’t. And you won’t,” Tom said flatly.

Edd squeaked as Tom shoved him onto the ground, the monster’s weight bracketing his thighs in a way that stole the breath from his lungs.

It was strange, seeing Tom towering over him like this. Strange—and unfairly hot.

“That all you got, big guy?” Edd challenged, though his voice cracked halfway through.

He truly never learned his lesson, did he? Knocking Edd down a peg couldn’t be that difficult.

Even in this form, only partially transformed, Tom could easily overpower him.

Edd barely had time to blink before sharp claws hooked into his shirt– fabric giving way with a violent rip, shredded in an instant. The sound echoed louder than it should have in the charged silence.

Tom didn’t flinch, didn’t even pause. He just stared down at him, chest heaving, as if tearing the clothes straight off of Edd’s body was the most natural thing in the world.

Edd gasped, heat flooding his cheeks, the cool air hitting his bare skin almost as hard as Tom’s gaze.

“I can’t believe you did that.” Edd hid his face, as if concealing his flushed face would make his embarrassment go away. Luckily, Tom didn’t seem to care very much– more entertained by the sensation that squeezing and pulling at the pudge of Edd’s thighs gave him.

Edd’s warm brown eyes widened as he realized Tom planned to forgo any sort of prep, the larger man insistently pressing his length against his entrance the moment he’d freed himself.

Edd winced as Tom forced inside him, the monstrous thing groaning above him as if he wouldn’t have been able to survive another second not nestled inside of him.

Edd had always thought Tom’s dick was big in his human form, but this was ridiculous. With every thrust, a bulge showed through Edd’s stomach that left Tom absolutely mesmerized.

Edd regretted two things almost immediately: not reminding Tom about the lube, and agreeing to sleep with someone nearly twice his size. Edd whimpered with pain every time Tom rolled his hips until the monster looming above him became genuinely concerned, his speed slowing considerably.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked, claws brushing Edd’s cheek– trying for tender and praying it wouldn’t come off as intimidating.

Edd only shook his head, his voice broken and trembling.

“Please be gentle.” 

If this were any other situation, Tom would probably tease him. He’d say something like “I thought you liked it rough?” or “You asked for this.”, but this was entirely different. His oversight seemed to cause Edd genuine pain, even if minimal, and Tom couldn’t help the way his heart broke at the idea of causing Edd real pain.

Of course, his touch being gentle didn’t make having a monster cock literally buried up his ass any easier, but Edd found the sensation more pleasurable as he began to adjust to it.

Soft, needy moans slipped past his parted lips, too lazy to hold anything back. Hell, him and Tom had had sex tons of times. What difference did him being in his monster form make?

Edd found himself drowning in the pleasure as calloused hands traced over him endlessly, Tom groaning as he rutted into him eagerly.

Edd couldn’t find the words to tell him just how cute it was, seeing him so desperate– he could only take it. Even as Tom wrenched orgasm after orgasm from him, he didn’t let up, fucking into him with terrifying stamina.

Edd had guessed that the sex drive of monsters were different, but he had absolutely no idea how different they were. Tom slammed into his prostate repeatedly, leaving him babbling and sobbing into his domineering grasp as he relented to the cruel throes of pleasure. Tears streamed down his rosy cheeks, the man’s chest heaving with overstimulation that left him trembling.

He felt like Tom could go on forever. And probably would.

He was cute like this—more desperate than Edd ever felt, a side effect of his half-transformed state.

Edd’s chest heaved, breaths ragged as every nerve in his buzzed from complete overstimulation. The smallest touch—Tom’s claws, the press of his hips—sent shivers through him. His limbs trembled, fingers curling into fists against the floor.

“T-Tom… I… I can’t…” he whimpered, voice cracking mid-word. His head felt heavy; his mind a haze of heat and need.

“Too… much… I’m too—” Edd gasped, words breaking into syllables as his body betrayed him. Thighs quivering, muscles tensing and relaxing without control as Tom only continued to assault his senses.

He was at Tom’s mercy, every part of him screaming, yet he couldn’t form a sentence. “P-please… s-slow…” he tried, though his tone said exactly the opposite.

Despite wanting to insist he hated it, every flicker from Tom—every roll, every brush—broke him down further. The sensation was intoxicating; Dizziness, breathlessness, and aching awareness of his helplessness consumed him. His mind blurred to nothing as Tom continued to roll his hips into his spent form, thrusts rough and unforgiving.

He had no idea how much longer it was before Tom finally let up. It could have been minutes, or hours– he didn’t care. All he cared about was being good for Tom.

It was only when Tom pulled out of him cautiously that Edd was finally thrusted back into reality, eyes flitting up to Tom as cum painted his thighs in thick spurts. It was absolutely filthy, disgusting, and probably the hottest thing that had ever happened to him.

Even with his eyes drifting shut, Edd couldn’t stop thinking how absurdly hot this was—the kind of scene seasoned Tumblr artists would kill for. Slowly, he slipped toward unconsciousness as Tom scooped him up, cradling him close and letting him rest.

Chapter Text

Being dominated by Tord was always Matt’s choice, a deliberately chosen surrender he returned to willingly. The Norwegian’s harsh, militaristic touch carried razor-sharp precision, each motion laid across Matt’s sensitive flesh with cold, exacting control — a focus Matt had long since learned to crave. What might look like detachment was, in truth, an intricately calculated web of touch designed to pull Matt deeper into need, to bend him entirely under Tord’s command, taking exactly what he wanted until Matt broke beneath him.

Tonight, though, instead of the sharp, commanding touch Matt had come to expect from their encounters over time, the air shifted between them imperceptibly. He almost didn’t notice it at first, the subtle change tangling around them like an invisible string until Tord’s hands glided over him, softened and deliberate, leaving him trembling and gasping.

Instead of bracing for impact like he usually would, Matt felt himself tensing as the space between them thickened with quiet intention.

Tord lingered, letting each deliberate motion speak volumes as he took his time with the ginger-haired Brit in a way that made his pulse quicken, every nerve on fire with anticipation for what was to come.

Scarred, calloused hands glided over Matt’s softly toned skin as though mapping a fragile kingdom; each scarred ridge, each hardened line of palm holding a brutal history that Tord pressed reverently against him — like a soldier worshipping his king in flesh.

Tord’s fingertips lingered over every inch of him, deliberate and precise, memorizing the subtle curves and soft hollows of Matt’s body as if he were committing them to memory. Each ridge of muscle, every gentle swell of skin beneath calloused palms, was studied and worshipped with swelling warmth.

Matt quivered as Tord’s rough fingertips traced across his skin, each deliberate touch igniting a trail of fire in its wake that lingered long after and left every inch of him trembling with need. The fingers followed a careful line down his stomach, teasing, worshipping, before finally drifting lower, along the curve of his happy trail. Heat pooled in his chest, the need coiling tight through his body leaving him breathless and entirely at Tord’s mercy.

“Please, Tord…” Matt gasped, hips jerking upward, straining toward the phantom touch that was tearing through his mind, leaving every nerve raw and trembling.

Tord’s fingers lingered at the curve of his hips, teasing along the edge of his body, dragging heat along every ridge that left him raw and open like an exposed wire. Matt arched instinctively, breath hitching, trembling under the deliberate pressure, every inch of him straining—not from fear, but from the gentle, intoxicating touch that left his mind foggy and his body helplessly alight.

With every moment that passed, he expected Tord’s hands to make their departure from his trembling form. He found himself waiting for the Norwegian to halt his ministrations– to stare at him intently until he began begging– but he was instead met with the same, gentle touch that left his head spinning in dizzying, endless circles.

Matt’s knuckles dug into the soft, plaid-patterned sheets as Tord traced a winding trail of kisses down his body, each one reverent and leaving sensitive skin quivering under the press of warm lips. He paused just above Matt’s navel, mouth lingering over the taut plane of his abs as he lifted his gaze to meet Matt’s with an unwavering intensity. His eyes held him captive for a long, deliberate moment before he began to speak, letting the pause stretch out and Matt’s pulse race in the charged silence spread between them.

“You’re so beautiful like this, søtnos,” Tord murmured, cracked lips parting just enough for his fangs to shine through as he smirked up at Matt.

“I’m going to take my time with you tonight.” 

Before he could even begin to respond, Tord began laving his warm tongue over the sensitive head of Matt’s cock, leaving the poor ginger trembling and biting back desperate whimpers. Matt’s head tilted back with a breathless moan as Tord’s burnished auburn hair swayed with every deliberate motion, strands catching the light like molten fire, moving in perfect rhythm as he lavished Matt with intoxicating, slow pleasure.

With every gentle bob of his head, Tord gagged softly, and Matt’s stomach knotted with worry. Each time he tried to speak, Tord’s mouth tightened around him, relishing in his taste as if their delicate dance were some sort of private contest. 

Though he found himself endlessly enchanted by the chestnut-haired man, the feeling of concern bubbling up in his stomach convinced him that he should act sooner, rather than later. Tentatively, almost instinctively, he reached up, brushing a hand through Tord’s hair as he guided his head downward in a motion intended only to help. Tord gagged softly at the movement, his throat constricting around Matt’s aching length as he looked up at him through fluttering lashes and rapidly-building tears threatening to fall.

Coughing softly, Tord gave a quiet assent, clearing his throat, eyes meeting Matt’s with a gentler warmth than usual, soft enough to leave Matt wondering what he was plotting.

“I’m sorry, Tord—I didn’t—” Matt blurted, scrambling for excuses, words tumbling out before Tord had the chance to explain.

The Norwegian’s gaze softened impossibly further, a tender smile brushing his lips as one hand cupped Matt’s face, soothing him with careful, deliberate warmth.

“It’s alright, kjære. I’m not going to hurt you. Not tonight.” Tord whispered, hands roaming over Matt’s body with deliberate care and settling on the plump curve of his ass with a gentle squeeze. Then, with a teasing glance, he brought two fingers to his lips, wetting them slowly, before letting them hover just above Matt.

Just the promise of contact was enough to make him squirm, but the instant Tord’s fingers breached the ring of muscles guarding his entrance, Matt curled in on himself, shivering under the overwhelming pressure and letting out a broken mewl that had Tord’s lips curling into a smug smile.

Carefully, lovingly, Tord wanted to take him apart. Matt couldn’t get enough of the way his slender fingers curled inside him, hitting every right spot until thought itself melted away. Heat pooled and twisted in his chest and lower, breath catching with every measured movement, every glide and press of Tord’s hand driving him further into dizzy, consuming need.

Tord’s fingers were perfect — better than even Matt’s own — moving with quiet calculation, tracing, curling, and pressing until they landed on that one spot that made Matt shiver uncontrollably. The instant he found it, Matt’s whole body jerked upward, hips thrusting violently into the open air, as he was captured in the dizzying pleasure the man on top of him commanded.

Matt’s hips rocked in time with every thrust of Tord’s fingers, slipping deeper into subspace with each calculated curl. He was lost in the haze, mindlessly chasing the high — until suddenly, the fingers left him, his hole clenching down around nothing. A startled whine tore from his throat before he could stop it, lifting his haze towards Tord with desperate confusion.

Tord only grinned down at him, awestruck at how his careful treatment had rendered the usually talkative Brit so quiet, so undone beneath him.

“Relax, kjære. You’re getting something better. You want to cum on my cock, don’t you?” Tord teased, his accent thickening with every word as if the further he drifted into lust, the less of a grip he had on his inhibitions.

Matt could barely register the wet sound of Tord slicking himself up, lost in the haze of submission until he felt something hard pressing against him. 

His back arched off the bed as Tord began to slowly ease himself into him — gentle, steady, and yet somehow neverending. The intrusion burned and soothed all at once, unraveling him inch by inch until Matt could only cling to the sheets, his breath caught somewhere between a moan and a whimper.

Tord’s grip was tight on Matt’s hips as he began to thrust above him, the bedframe below them squeaking in time with their motions like a sinful symphony. Every thrust sent Matt reeling, uncontrollably barrelling into the dark depths of pleasure as he squirmed impatiently.

“You like that?” Tord rasped, his palms smoothing across Matt’s hips gently as he soothed the overwhelmed Brit. He rolled his hips in shallow bursts against Matt, wrenching pitiful sobs out of the man below him with nearly every pound.

“You’re doing so well,” Tord murmured, his breath hot against the shell of Matt’s ear. The words burned through him like fire, pleasure coiling tight in his stomach until he felt fit to burst. Matt gasped helplessly, a desperate, broken sound, rocking his hips back to meet each relentless thrust as though he couldn’t stand to survive without the contact.

Tord’s thrusts slammed into him at a breakneck pace, each one stealing the air from Matt’s lungs and leaving him trembling and undone. The coil in his stomach wound tighter with every merciless movement, his body begging for release even as his mind stalled. Was he allowed? Did he need to wait? He couldn’t help but wonder if the rules had changed as Tord’s touch had, the need building until it was unbearable. 

“Tord… please? Can I…?” Matt gasped, his voice soft and breaking beneath the weight of each thrust. His body trembled, straining to hold back the mounting pleasure, every muscle taut with the effort. But Tord only grinned, driving into him harder, faster—wordless, merciless, granting permission through each relentless movement.

Following stuttering, desperate movements, the dam Matt had been struggling to hold back finally broke. Heat coiled tight in his abdomen, unraveling him entirely as a shuddering moan tore from his throat. His hips jerked uncontrollably, clinging to Tord as he spilled over the expanse of his own chest.

Through it all, Tord didn’t even attempt to move for himself. His hands and hips remained deliberate, steady, helping Matt through the peaks and valleys of his release with meticulous care. Every thrust was meant to coax Matt higher, to make him melt and take him apart only to put him back together again.

Finally, Tord pulled free, letting Matt collapse against him as heat and tremors still wracked through his sensitive form. He pulled him closer, the pair of them chest to chest as he wrapped his arms around the trembling Brit, brushing a damp hair from his forehead and pressing soft, lingering kisses to the curve of his cheek.

“There, kjære… all yours. Just you,” Tord murmured, voice low and soothing.

Matt shivered, breath ragged, heart pounding, and let himself melt into the warmth of Tord’s embrace. The world narrowed to steady hands, gentle presses, and whispered assurances — the quiet aftermath of Tord having finally given into his desire to truly care for someone.

Chapter Text

The last few weeks had been anything but gentle to Tord. The mech explosion, a catastrophic failure of his desperate attempt at a takeover, was only the beginning of a long list of misfortunes. In a single night, he lost everything: his machine, his future, his friends. The blast hadn’t just torn through steel; it had torn through him, leaving his body battered, broken, and barely recognizable even to himself. His sight was fractured now, half-gone, leaving him stumbling through a world he could no longer navigate alone. Every step he took felt like walking across broken glass, the independence he had clung to so fiercely ripped away from him in the span of a few days.

Just the humiliation was enough to make him wish he’d died in the mech instead of having to survive in this broken world he now called home. Having to be fed, clothed, constantly checked up on — it felt pathetic, and yet, somehow the somber nights that followed were crueler. Flashbacks dragged him back into fire and screaming metal, replaying the explosion with terrifying clarity. The echoes of alarms, confusion and twisting metal, the heat and the panic — it all haunted him relentlessly. Almost every night he would wake drenched in sweat, his chest heaving with tears he could never let anyone see. He was always ashamed of the way he cried, the way his body betrayed him with tremors and sobs that left him even more raw than the burns that had scorched every inch of his body. Every night was a battle he hadn’t asked for, every morning a fragile victory over his own mind that left him shaken.

Through it all, the only kindness that lingered — the only steady thing in a world that had abandoned him — was Paul. Paul’s hands, steady and strong, guiding him when he faltered. Paul’s voice, low and even, coaxing him through dark nights where he believed there would be no daylight to follow them. Paul’s patience, his unspoken understanding, the quiet constancy of someone who didn’t flinch at the fragility of the broken. And now, Paul’s touch again, easing him into the steaming bath as if Tord were something delicate, something precious, even when he no longer believed himself worthy of care.

Fluorescent, glaring lights mocked him, harsh against his fractured vision. Steam curled upward in thin waves, blurring the edges of the room until the world dissolved into a shifting white haze. The water lapped against his skin, climbing to his knees as he reminisced over the fact this activity was one he could once do himself. He could barely see, barely walk, and he wished the bath would swallow him whole so he no longer had to burden Paul. He barely registered Paul turning off the tap until the water completely stopped, too caught up in how exposed and useless he felt.

Paul didn’t speak — he never did. He was content to let Tord sit in his own silence until he was ready to surface, knowing that pushing him would only make him uncomfortable. Yet still, a gentle, calloused hand found his jaw, tilting his head until his fractured gaze met Paul’s steady eyes.

“I have to clean you up, you know,” Paul muttered, voice low and reverent. He stubbed out his cigarette, the hiss of burning tobacco slicing through the steam, while his thumb brushed across Tord’s cheek, careful and deliberate.

Tord sighed, already anticipating the routine. He hadn’t been able to bathe since the accident, and the stubborn soot clung to his skin, making his injuries more dangerous to tend for the medical team. Every touch made him hyperaware of his fragility, every motion a reminder of how completely he had been broken.

Still, even though he dreaded the vulnerability, he was glad it was Paul who was tasked with it. Paul could be infuriating — stinking of cheap cigarettes, tossing out jokes only Patryk laughed at, grumpy enough to keep most people at bay — but beneath it all, he was kind in a way Tord couldn’t help craving. A kindness that seemed to exist solely for him, in a world that had shown him nothing but pain.

Tord shivered as gentle hands settled across his shoulders, rubbing soap into his skin as if Paul were attempting to wash away more than just the soot. Each movement pressed into him with quiet care, each circle of a hand a silent assurance that he wasn’t alone, that someone still wanted him whole.

Paul’s hands lingered longer than necessary, rubbing delicate circles into Tord’s shoulders. “You okay?” he asked softly, voice low and steady.

Tord blinked against the steam, unsteady, caught between the ache in his muscles and the warmth of Paul’s touch. His chest tightened. Relief, yes — but also something more, something confusing that made him clench and unclench his fists without thought. Paul’s hands, meant only to soothe, were inadvertently stirring something in him he hadn’t expected.

His mind raced, flitting between frustration and the haze of desire. Of course, he hadn’t been able to get off since the accident, that made sense, but what didn’t was the heat curling in his stomach with every brush of Paul’s fingertips against him. He could feel it building in his chest, tightening his muscles and heating his skin, and yet Paul’s gaze remained unflinching, patient, unaware of the effect he was having. Tord wanted to scold, wanted to pull back, wanted to understand what game Paul might be playing — but the truth was that he wasn’t playing any game at all. He was only helping. Only caring. Only being the steady presence Tord had been clinging to, in the quiet aftermath of the world’s destruction.

And for a moment, that was almost enough.

It would have been, if Tord didn’t choke out a shaky whimper that changed the environment entirely. Heat coiled low in his stomach, a mixture of helplessness and something far more urgent, leaving him trembling in ways he hadn’t expected. Paul’s gaze had followed every deliberate movement of his hands over Tord’s skin, but the moment their eyes met, the man understood everything — the tension, the need, the flush creeping up Tord’s neck, and the way his body was betraying him.

Tord pulled back just slightly, bracing for scolding, for sharp words, for the fists he half-expected. None came. Instead, Paul’s touch remained impossibly gentle, his voice low and warm as he murmured words into the Norwegian’s ear that made him tense.

 “It’s okay, Tord. Are you… do you want me to help?” He said, leaning closer still as heat curled through Tord’s chest so sharply he choked on his own nod — unable to speak, unable to do anything but think about just how undone he was.

A hand traced slowly down Tord’s stomach at his quiet confirmation, reading his need instead of shaming him as he had feared. When strong fingers gently parted his thighs, heat surged through him, and he bucked reflexively into the empty air, his breath hitching as Paul chuckled softly at the reaction.

“So desperate…” Paul murmured, fingers slipping through slick folds with an ease that was both methodical and unrelenting. Tord shivered violently, curling in on himself as every nerve ending screamed in a way he hadn’t remembered being able to feel. The need that had been coiled so tightly inside him for weeks –– the explosion, how impossible getting off had become, the frustration of being broken — began to spill out in the form of relentless tremors.

Each press of Paul’s fingers was careful, exacting, but it sent jolts of sensation racing through him. Tord’s hips bucked instinctively, searching for friction while his hands clawed at the side of the tub as though grounding himself could contain the fire inside him. His breath, usually so controlled, came in ragged gasps as Paul’s thumb circled his clit with deliberate, tender insistence.

Paul’s eyes never left him, calm and anchored, yet impossibly charged. Every motion of his hand drew Tord further into haze, melting him in a way that made him feel like he was dissolving into a puddle of sensation and need. He couldn’t think, couldn’t plan, couldn’t even focus on remembering how to breathe. There was only the press of Paul’s fingers, the steady, slow build of pleasure curling tight in his stomach, radiating through every muscle.

Tord’s hips rocked of their own volition, a stuttering rhythm against Paul’s unyielding patience, and he whimpered, a small, raw sound that surprised him with its intensity. Waves of release stacked on one another until he was left completely pliant, undone and achingly dependent on Paul’s gentle domination. He could feel the flood of everything he’d held back—the fear, the shame, the heat of pent-up desire — pouring out through a single, trembling body.

Paul didn’t rush. He didn’t pull back. He simply guided Tord through it, fingers curling, pressing, lavishing attention where Tord was most sensitive, letting him unravel without shame or apology. Every shudder and buck was mirrored by Paul’s steady presence, a lighthouse keeping him grounded amidst the waves of sensation that mercilessly crashed over him.

And when Tord finally tipped over the edge, when the world narrowed to nothing but heat and friction and Paul’s patient control, he found himself collapsing against the side of the tub, reaching for Paul though he was trembling, breathless and vulnerable. Paul’s hands never left him, never ceased their gentle ministrations as they coaxed him down from the peak with reverent care, helping him through it until the last quiver subsided and all that was left was taut and satisfied emptiness that had him pulling back.

Following the pleasure that had torn through him, Tord let himself sag against the tub as the tension of weeks — the explosions, the pain, the helplessness — finally began to melt away. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, still tasting the aftershocks of his orgasm, still feeling the lingering memory of Paul’s touch as a quiet anchor.

Outside the tub, Paul’s hands rested lightly on the rim, thumbs tracing slow, absent patterns near Tord’s shoulders — careful not to disturb him, yet letting his presence be known, a quiet reassurance against loneliness. Tord let himself melt into the safety of that silence, eyes half-lidded and entire body still humming from the overstimulation as a grateful smile tugged at his lips.

A low, amused chuckle drifted from Paul, and Tord leaned further into the curve of the tub, trusting, fragile, content in the warmth of someone utterly present. The bathwater lapped quietly against his legs, steam curling between them, and for the first time in weeks, the sharp edges of his world softened.

He didn’t need words, didn’t need movement — just the steady watchfulness of Paul nearby, the quiet patience in his gaze, the unspoken promise that he wasn’t alone. 

Chapter Text

The sun beat down through the blinds, striping the room with sharp bands of light. The heat was sticky and unbearable, trapping them together on the sagging couch until their shoulders pressed together and sweat drenched the cushions.

Matt had been the first to give in, peeling his shirt off with a theatrical sigh, ginger hair sticking to his forehead in a mess that only seemed to make him look more smug. Even without trying, he looked composed in the heat, like he’d been waiting for it. Tom, on the other hand, felt like his chest might cave in, every breath too hot and tight until all he could manage was glaring at Matt’s grin. Across from them, Edd sat slouched, half-heartedly fanning himself with the nearest magazine in an attempt to hide his flushed neck and pink ears that betrayed more than just simple overheating.

“You guys feel that?” Matt’s voice cut lazily through the still air, his smirk curling higher as his gaze flitted between them. “Perfect weather for… this.”

The words hung there for a moment, heavy and suggestive until Tom groaned, low and almost feral in a way that surprised even himself. Before he could think better of it, his hand was on Matt, dragging him closer, skin slippery with sweat under his palm.

Matt leaned into it instantly, smirk deepening, but Edd stiffened, wide-eyed and caught between them. For a fleeting moment Tom thought maybe he’d crossed a line—until Edd faltered forward, pulled in like gravity, his fan slipping forgotten to the floor. And then it was the three of them, a sudden tangle of limbs and skin and breath, each gasp too quick as they pressed impossibly closer into one another.

The couch creaked under their shifting weight, Matt’s laughter low and close to Tom’s mouth, Edd’s body pliant as he let himself be guided. Tom’s hand slid across Matt’s shoulder, down his arm, while his other curled tight at Edd’s hip. The cola lover was already breathless, his lashes fluttering as Matt’s fingers teased over his side and Tom’s knuckles digging possessively into his skin.

Edd didn’t know where to put his hands—on Matt’s chest slick with heat, or clinging to Tom’s arm with dulled nails like it might steady him. His head fell back with a dizzy sound when Matt’s lips grazed his jaw, Tom’s teeth tugging at the back of his neck. Kisses trailed down his chest, each one making him shiver despite the heat, until whimpers were tumbling free in quick succession, betraying just how helpless he felt.

Outside, the air simmered with midsummer heat, but inside, it was worse—thickened unbearably. Edd couldn’t tell if his mind was spinning from the oppressive weather or from the way Matt shifted closer, his knee pressing firmly between his thighs, or from the way Tom kept grabbing at his waist like he’d never let go. Every shaky sound that fell from Edd’s lips seemed to ripple through the other two, their bodies tensing as they drew closer.

“Ready?” Tom muttered finally, voice low, roughened into something almost unrecognizable. His hand slid down deliberately, cupping the curve of Edd’s ass, squeezing just enough to make him tremble.

Edd’s answer was barely more than a nod, his face pressed into Matt’s chest to hide the helpless squeak that escaped his parted lips. Matt’s arm hooked around his shoulders, pulling him closer still, the ginger’s smirk softening into something far hungrier as Tom’s eyes locked with his across the trembling weight of the boy caught between them.

Tom’s lips lingered over the curve of Edd’s neck, teeth grazing lightly as if memorizing the heat that radiated from him as he popped the cap of their well-loved lube. Matt’s hands weren’t content to stay still, trailing along Edd’s sides, fingers pressing and teasing just enough to make him squirm in Tom’s grasp. Every tiny shiver, every gasp that slipped from Edd’s lips felt amplified against the charged air, sending little electric shocks of need straight into Tom’s chest.

“You’re ridiculously… everything,” Tom murmured, voice rough, almost a growl. Two fingers lazily petted at his insides, spreading him while searching for the spot that would break him open briefly. Edd trembled, teeth biting at his lower lip to suppress another whine, but the effort only made him more helpless, more deliciously vulnerable in the two of their hands.

Matt leaned down, pressing a teasing kiss just below Edd’s ear. “Mm, you sound even better when you’re trying not to,” he whispered, letting the tip of his tongue trace along the sensitive skin. The brunette shivered violently, nails digging into Tom’s back, and the sight alone made Tom’s chest tighten with possessive fire.

“You two…” Edd started, voice shaky, barely above a whisper. “I… I can’t—”

Tom silenced him with a rough press of lips to his jaw, teeth tugging softly at the soft skin there. “Shh,” he murmured, low and heated. “You can, and you will, and you’re going to love it.”

Matt chuckled, a deep, teasing sound that vibrated against Edd’s shoulder. “He’s right, you know,” Matt said, pressing a hand firmly into Edd’s lower back as Tom’s fingers finally found his prostate. His entire body jolted like it had been electrocuted, his head shooting up as he grasped at Matt for some sort of grounding.

Edd’s nails raked lightly over Matt’s back again, chest heaving as sweat slicked their skin together. Every breath felt magnified as Tom’s fingers scissored within him; the heat of the room pressed in around them as he was prepared for something he knew had been a long time coming.

Tom’s fingers gentle pulled out of Edd as he deemed him ready, squeezing, pressing and pulling him impossibly closer. “Messy,” Tom muttered, voice thick and low, “is my favorite.” He could feel Matt shifting Edd gently as he got up, the both of them working to maneuver him into a more comfortable position as Tom tugged off what remained of his clothes and their hungry eyes raked over the now-nude man before them.

Matt’s smirk widened, helping to rest Edd’s hips just over the arm of the couch as he unbuckled his belt with a snap that left shivers running through Edd. “Yeah, messy’s definitely my favorite too,” he whispered, his thumb gently pressing against Edd’s lips to coax his mouth open. Edd shivered again, nearly collapsing as he felt Tom pressing in without warning, his mouth opening just enough for Matt to slip his waiting cock in with ease. He whimpered, squirming, but Matt held him steady, possessive hands brushing through his hair to keep him centered.

“You feel like this… like this is mine,” Tom murmured, pounding harder still against Edd’s skin just to watch him gasp out choked sounds that left Matt bucking into him. There was nothing Edd could do to get relief — every pull from Tom shoved Matt further down his throat yet every push from Matt coaxed Tom further into him. Edd gasped, body trembling violently, nails digging deep, chest heaving, skin slick and warm beneath the heat of their combined attention as he tried to muster up words.

“Shh,” Matt said, mock stern, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed every ounce of his amusement. “Just… feel it. Feel us.”

Tom’s hands gripped Edd’s hips again, nails digging in just slightly as Matt worked Edd’s willing mouth along his cock; Practically using him to get off. Edd had no real way of telling them just how much he enjoyed this, how foggy he felt, all he could do was take it. Edd was whimpering freely now, following with low, possessive groans from Tom, and the softest sounds from Matt. The room itself seemed to press in, every sunbeam across their bodies a mirror to the heat building between them.

Matt’s hand slid under the curve of Edd’s side, dragging Edd’s face into the mess of his pubic hair and holding him there as spurts of cum filled his waiting mouth. He took a moment to come down, but it was clear Tom wasn’t done— still fucking into the man steadily even as Matt slipped from his lips.

Edd’s chest heaved, wet and warm beneath their hands, every sigh, every gasping sound like an invitation. “I… I can’t—” he gasped, but Tom only landed a swat to his ass, laughing lowly as he noticed Edd jerking himself off steadily.

“You can,” Tom growled, pressing his forehead against Edd’s, letting his hands roam possessively. “And you will, and you’re going to remember every second of it.”

Matt chuckled again, dragging a finger teasingly along the line of Edd’s spine. “Don’t forget me, Edd,” he whispered, letting the weight of his words linger in the air between them. “I’m not done with you yet.”

The heat, the closeness, the slick, slippery skin—it was overwhelming. Edd’s fingers clawed lightly at the couch cushions, grasping anything tangible while he felt himself being destroyed. He knew for a fact he’d already cum— both from the wetness below him and the way his entire body buzzed, but neither Matt nor Tom

let up for even a moment despite his shivering.

Tom’s hands returned to Edd’s hips, thumbs brushing over the dips at the edge of his waist as he pulled him impossibly closer. “This is mine,” he murmured again, low, rough, possessive, even as Matt pressed close, hands drifting lower as they grasped his dripping length—Edd caught perfectly between them, wriggling under the heat and the insistence of their combined focus.

Edd’s whimpers were uneven, broken, desperate, but each one fed the hunger in Tom’s chest and the smug amusement in Matt’s eyes. They were chaos, heat, possession—and utterly, deliciously, perfect.

Tom finally eased back, letting Edd sag slightly into the couch, hands still lingering possessively at his hips. A faint, slick trace marked where their closeness had been, and Edd couldn’t help but press against his own thigh as he felt it trickling down, his cheeks heating. The sensation was warm and embarrassing, and a small, grossed-out shiver ran through him, though the heat in his chest from being caught between Tom and Matt made him stay right where he was.

“You okay, sunshine?” Tom murmured, thumbs brushing soothing circles over Edd’s hips, voice low and rough, full of possessive satisfaction.

Edd nodded, though his body still trembled, overstimulated from the intensity, heart racing and limbs heavy. “I… I feel… gross,” he admitted softly, voice small, pressed into the warmth of Tom’s chest.

Matt chuckled lightly, smirk softening, and nudged Edd’s shoulder. “Gross, maybe… but also ridiculously cute. Like, tiny ginger disaster adorable.”

Tom growled low, brushing damp hair from Edd’s forehead. “He’s fine,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “Messy, maybe… but ours, and perfect.”

Edd let out a shaky laugh, curling closer between them, letting their warmth and touch ground him. The initial wave of overstimulation slowly eased, replaced by a heavy, soft exhaustion. He was still a little grossed-out, still flushed, but safe and held, and somehow that made it okay.

Tom adjusted his hold, pressing Edd flush against his chest while Matt draped an arm over his shoulders. The ginger felt completely surrounded, cocooned in warmth, and the combination of their presence made his racing heart gradually slow. His head lolled lazily against Tom’s collarbone, and he let out a tiny, content sigh.

“You’re so cute like this,” Matt murmured, voice soft now, the smirk fading into genuine fondness. “All flushed, messy, and soft. Like a little brunette marshmallow.”

Tom snorted, nudging Matt with his elbow. “Shut up. He’s not a marshmallow. And you—don’t make this worse by laughing at him.”

Matt shrugged, smirk sneaking back. “Fine, fine… but he is ridiculously adorable, look at him.” He tapped Edd lightly on the arm. “Tiny, warm, overwhelmed, and completely ours.”

Edd giggled weakly, feeling heat rush to his ears despite the sub-drop haze. “I… I just… I feel so weird,” he admitted, letting himself sink fully into their embrace, little shivers wracking his body. “Gross and… tired…”

Tom pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head. “You feel exactly how you’re supposed to. And that’s okay,” he murmured, thumbs still drawing small circles over Edd’s hips. “We’ve got you. Every little bit.”

Matt leaned closer, nuzzling against Edd’s shoulder. “Yeah, messy fireball, we’ve got you,” he said, voice playful but soft, tugging gently at Edd’s blanket-wrapped shoulders to pull him tighter. “And you know what? We’re not letting you go anywhere.”

Edd let out a tiny laugh, curling deeper into them. “You two are… ridiculous,” he whispered, voice muffled against Tom’s chest.

Tom’s huff of laughter was low and fond. “Maybe. But you love it.”

“I do,” Edd admitted, small grin tugging at his lips. “Even when I feel gross.”

Matt smirked, pressing a light kiss to the top of Edd’s head. “See? And grumpy Tom over there finallyadmits it.”

Tom shot Matt a mock glare, voice deadpan. “I do not admit anything. I just… tolerate his chaos.”

“Uh-huh,” Matt said, tilting his head with a mischievous grin. “Sure you do, grumpy. And admit it or not, it’s cute.”

Edd let out a soft, sleepy laugh, drifting between small murmurs and sighs, completely wrapped in the warmth and absurdity of them. Despite the lingering gross, overwhelmed feeling, he felt safe, loved, and impossibly cherished—grumpy Tom, dumb Matt, and him, together in a perfectly messy, perfectly adorable heap as his eyes grew heavier by the second.

Chapter Text

Tord rarely had time to himself, especially while leading an army that was in the process of taking over the world. This was the first moment of free time he had experienced in weeks. He quickly secluded himself in his dark, cold office, seeking a breather and a much-needed break from people.

The horned Norwegian leaned against his cluttered desk, his weary head resting in the crook of his folded arms. A deep sigh escaped his lips, gently releasing the tension that had been bubbling beneath the surface of his scarred skin for months. The dim light in the room flickered off his metallic arm, which buzzed quietly with a crackle of electricity—a reminder of the urgent maintenance it required to operate smoothly. The intricate design of the robotic limb gleamed subtly, hinting at the advanced technology within. It was the only comfort he had to shield him from the reality that his past had nearly killed him.

As he sat in silence, enveloped by the stillness of the room, he finally had a moment to gather his scattered thoughts. The weight of the world seemed to rest heavily upon his shoulders, and within that bubble of charged silence, he found himself pondering the one person who occupied his mind far more than he would ever admit: Tom. Tom was not just a soldier; he was the finest sharpshooter in the entire army, a man whose skills were revered by allies and feared by anyone unlucky enough to become his enemy. The thought of Tom brought a warm flush to his cheeks, a stark contrast to the icy facade he often wore.

Despite his efforts to maintain a professional distance, Tom had become an integral part of Tord's life. They had navigated the difficult waters of their relationship for years, standing on opposite sides of an ideological divide that once defined them. In their early adult years, they were fierce adversaries, and their infrequent encounters were filled with endless bickering and frustration, leaving Tord feeling that there was no way they would ever become close. However, over time, those moments evolved into something Tord struggled to put into words. Tom was not just absent from his side due to military orders; he was on one of his most perilous missions yet—a classified operation meant to dismantle the rebellion that threatened their way of life once and for all. The very thought of Tom thrust into danger sent shivers down his spine. They both harbored a profound fear of confronting the reality of their feelings, of admitting that what had begun as a rivalry had grown into an unspoken bond that transcended the boundaries of friendship and enmity. 

Now, separated by distance and circumstance, he felt an insatiable yearning for the connection they shared, one that rested precariously on the brink of something deeper. The walls they had built around themselves—the ones crafted from their shared history of conflict—were growing more fragile by the day. There was an undeniable tension in the air, both of them quietly recognizing that their relationship could become something vastly more meaningful if only they would allow it to.

Tord sat in the dimly lit office, lost in thought about his complicated relationship with Tom. He had no idea how long he’d been enveloped in complete silence until the shrill ring of his work phone broke through the darkness, forcing him back into the current moment where he didn’t have the privilege of toiling with romantic partners. The sound startled him, fumbling blindly for the phone, as a name was blasted onto the screen that made his heart stop.

As the screen lit up with Tom's name flashing urgently, Tord felt a jolt of instinctive dread. Before he could muster an excuse to avoid the call, his finger swiped across the display, and he pressed the phone to his ear. His heart pounded violently as static and distorted screaming erupted from the other end. The chaos was palpable; Tom's voice struggled to break through the noise, frayed and echoing, nearly drowned out by a relentless barrage of gunfire that punctuated the air like thunder.

Panic surged through Tord like icy water as he grasped the gravity of the mission he had assigned to Tom. The reality of the danger confronted him painfully, a constant reminder of the risks involved, forcing him to face the kind of danger he’d been putting Tom in for months without even thinking. Tom wasn't just a monster of Tord’s deliberate design; he was a living, breathing being who inspired both pride and deep love within Tord, regardless of whether or not he chose to admit it. In that moment, the weight of what was at stake pressed down on him, making it feel as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs in one swift blow.

“Tom, please,” Tord shouted, confident that his voice wouldn’t be a concern given Tom's surroundings. “Where are you?”

A few unbearable seconds passed with no response from the other end, as Tord's heart raced relentlessly while he struggled to remain calm amidst the chaos.

“I arrived at the designated station, sir. It was not empty as you had hoped.”

– time skip –

The hours that followed were a blur, filled with uncertainty and doubt swirling around Tord's mind. He resolutely brushed aside every warning echoing in his head, each cautioning him against meeting Tom at the so-called “empty” warehouse. Shadows of worry danced through his thoughts, yet he couldn't shake the nagging feeling of self-blame that clung to him like a heavy fog. How could he have been so naive and foolish to believe that Tom would attempt something so reckless on his own? If anyone should get hurt trying to save him, it should be Tord. He felt as though he had dug his own grave, but if he had, the peril he was in was entirely of his own making.

The warehouse stank of rust and blood when Tord finally arrived. By the time he found Tom, the sharpshooter was already leaning against the shattered wall, smoke curling from his rifle’s muzzle. His face was pale beneath the grime, his chest heaving in shallow bursts. But his eyes—sharp, icy—snapped up the instant Tord crossed the threshold.

“You’re late.” Tom’s voice was rough, but steady.

Tord swallowed the words he wanted to say—I thought I’d lost you—and instead barked back, “I never should’ve let you go in alone.”

Tom only smirked, though it faltered into a wince. “And let you get shot instead? Sorry, comrade. Not happening.”

Tord moved fast, steadying him with his good hand. His robotic one crackled faintly as he pulled Tom’s weight against him, ignoring how the gesture lingered between them. For a moment, surrounded by silence and the aura of fear, it was just them—raw, alive, furious.

The journey back blurred. All Tord knew was Tom’s heartbeat pounding against his shoulder, proof that he was still there. That he hadn’t been erased from Tord’s life by one reckless order.

– time skip –

Back at base, Tom was patched up, confined to bed rest. Tord should’ve left him there, but his mind was restless, frantic, already hunting for solutions. Protection. He couldn’t watch Tom throw himself into fire again without something more. Something better.

The lab lights buzzed overhead as he worked, sleepless. His fingers danced over schematics, wires, formulas. If he could just enhance Tom—sharpen his reflexes, heighten his senses—maybe he wouldn’t keep coming back broken and bloody. Maybe he’d stop terrifying Tord with every mission.

He glanced toward the adjoining room where Tom was dozing, jaw clenching. The thought of him vulnerable made bile rise in his throat. Not again.

So he set the machine humming. Adjustments, injections, calibrations—it was all theory and instinct, borrowed scraps of tech welded into one desperate plan.

When Tom finally stumbled in, half-awake and cursing about “the racket you’re making at three in the morning,” Tord grabbed him by the wrist before he could retreat. “Sit. I’m not asking.”

Tom blinked, groggy irritation melting into suspicion. “…What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t get yourself killed,” Tord muttered, already strapping him into the chair. His metal hand shook faintly, though he hid it well.

The machine roared to life. There was a surge of light, a crackle of static, and Tom cursed as energy snapped across his skin.

Then silence.

Tom ripped free of the restraints with surprising ease, hair bristling. “That better not have—” His voice caught. His hand flew to his head. His fingers brushed something soft, twitching. Ears.

He froze.

“…Tord.”

Tord turned, and the sight nearly knocked the air from his lungs. Tom’s ears—triangular, furred, twitching at every sound—stood stark against his dark hair. Behind him, a tail lashed like it had a mind of its own.

Tom’s horror was immediate, visceral. “You—you turned me into a fucking catboy?”

Tord’s mouth opened, shut. He wanted to say it was an accident, that it was meant to be protection, an enhancement. But the words lodged in his throat, because deep down, he knew exactly why shame burned so hot in his chest. Catboys. Transformation. Ridiculous, indulgent—something he used to jerk off to when he was younger, back when he had the luxury of hentai and late-night fantasies.

And now Tom was standing there, real, furious, and so much like the things Tord used to want.

Tom saw it in his face immediately. “Oh my god.” His eyes widened, mortified. “You’re enjoying this.”

Tord jolted. “I’m not—” Too fast, too defensive.

Tom pointed an accusing finger, ears flattening against his head. “You sick bastard.”

Tord clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look away from the tail flicking behind Tom’s legs. “It was… a miscalculation.”

The air between them snapped taut, equal parts fury, shame, and something hotter neither of them wanted to name.

“I.. don’t..”

Tom was glaring at him, chest heaving, every muscle tense like he was about to punch a hole through the wall. His new ears twitched violently at every sound, betraying his agitation.

Tord forced himself to look away, jaw clenched, but it was useless. His eyes slid back—first to the sharp angle of Tom’s scowl, then up to those furred, twitching points that shouldn’t be there. His stomach twisted. His cock stirred.

No. No, not now. Not with Tom looking like that.

But the heat in his gut wouldn’t go away, a gnawing ache that only got worse when Tom hissed through his teeth and his tail lashed the air. Something about it was too familiar, too raw—something he’d seen in those late-night videos, the ones he’d sworn he’d grown past, the ones he never thought could make any sort of contact with real life.

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “…Why are you looking at me like that?”

Tord froze. His throat clicked when he swallowed. “…Like what?”

“Like you’re—” Tom’s gaze dropped, then snapped back up, and his face went scarlet. “Oh my god. You’re hard.”

Heat flooded Tord’s face. He jerked his metal hand across his lap too late to hide it, hating the way his body betrayed him. “It’s—It’s nothing.”

Tom’s ears flicked at the sound of his voice. The tiny movement snagged Tord’s attention like a hook in his chest. He bit back a groan. “…fuck.”

“You’re joking.” Tom’s voice was sharp, incredulous. “You like this?”

Tord’s hand twitched before he could stop it, fingers aching to reach forward, to touch, to see if they were as soft as they looked. His shame burned hotter than his arousal, but it wasn’t enough to stop the words from slipping out, ragged and low.

“…Can I?”

Tom blinked, caught off guard. “Can you what—”

Tord lifted his hand, hesitating inches from the base of Tom’s ear, his breath shallow. His pulse thundered in his throat. “Just—let me feel.”

The silence stretched, thick and unbearable, until Tom muttered, “You’re unbelievable.” But he didn’t move away.

Tord’s fingertips brushed against the fur. Silken, warm, twitching under his touch. His cock throbbed hard enough to hurt, humiliation mixing with the guttural sound that slipped past his teeth.

“Fuck,” he whispered, thumb stroking experimentally along the edge of Tom’s ear. His body trembled with need and restraint. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me…”

Tord’s breath hitched as he leaned closer, his forehead brushing Tom’s as he paused, almost as if willing Tom to act before he did. The air between them was thick, buzzing with tension, each heartbeat loud in the quiet of Tord’s lab. Tom’s eyes, wide and sharp, caught his in a mixture of disbelief and exasperation—ears flattened, tail flicking nervously—but Tord couldn’t look away.

When his lips finally met Tom’s, it was soft at first, exploratory and almost apologetic. Tord’s hands hovered for a moment before settling on Tom’s shoulders, gripping lightly as though grounding himself. The feel of Tom’s tense body beneath his fingertips made heat coil in Tord’s stomach. His mind screamed to stop, to remember their roles as military men, but his body betrayed him, every nerve screaming in delight at the contact.

Tom stiffened at first, a sharp exhale vibrating through Tord’s mouth that left Tord worried he’d pushed too far, freezing. Then, just barely, Tom leaned in slightly, a flicker of hesitant consent that was enough to ignite a fire Tord couldn’t even attempt to contain.

Their mouths moved again, this time deeper, teeth and tongues brushing in a clumsy, fumbling rhythm. Tord’s lips parted against Tom’s, tasting the faint tang of adrenaline, sweat, and something distinctly Tom. Each press of lips, each shiver of tongue, sent a shudder through Tord’s body—leaving him pressing closer into Tom as embarrassment and arousal intertwined.

Tord’s metal hand brushed over Tom’s arm, lingering too long, tracing the line of muscle with a curiosity he had no right to indulge. Every twitch of Tom’s ears under his fingers made his heart hammer and left him throbbing harder. He wanted to pull back, to hide the evidence of his desire, but curiosity won, making him brush against the soft fur again as he groaned softly against Tom’s mouth, a sound that was half apology and half need.

Finally pulling back, Tom’s sharp inhale vibrated against Tord’s lips as he finally whispered, “You’re an idiot.”

Tord pressed a little closer anyway, letting his hips roll against Tom’s as they groaned in sync with eachother. He was mortified, trembling, embarrassed—but utterly unable to stop. The kiss deepened, messy and needy, a collision of want and guilt as the tail swished in tense rhythms behind Tom, and Tord’s fingers itched to explore more—if only he dared.

Their lips parted only for ragged breaths, foreheads still pressed together. Tom’s tail lashed anxiously, ears flat against his head, and every twitch sent a shiver down Tord’s spine.

“I’m not—don’t think you can just—” Tom hissed, trying to pull back, only for Tord to inch closer, a hand threading into his hair. “…decide everything here.”

Tord smirked, low and teasing, leaning just enough to press his lips against Tom’s again, softer this time, almost testing. “…Is that a challenge, or are you just scared of losing?”

Tom froze. “…I—Not scared! You—You’re cheating somehow!” His tail swished like it had a mind of its own. “…You—stop touching me like that.”

Tord’s fingers drifted down to the small of Tom’s back, brushing lightly, and Tom flinched. That little reaction made Tord grin, heat coiling through him despite the embarrassment. “…Cheating? I’m just… exploiting your weaknesses. Ears, tail, a flinch here and there. Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it.”

“I—do not! You’re insane!” Tom snapped, but his breath hitched, lips trembling, ears twitching uncontrollably.

Tord leaned in, pressing their foreheads together again. “…Hmm. Really? Because I think I’m winning.” His thumb brushed along the curve of Tom’s jaw, a teasing, possessive touch. “…And you’re not even trying to fight back anymore.”

Tom’s sharp inhale betrayed him, and his tail thumped nervously against the floor. “…I—am fighting!” he spat, though the flush creeping up his neck, the softening of his voice, and the way he couldn’t pull away told a very different story.

Tord’s grin widened, victorious but still careful, teasing. “…You see? I told you. You already lost, Tom. Now it’s just a question of how much control I get.”

Tom growled softly, ears twitching, his tail swishing frantically as Tord motioned for him to get up.

Tom growled softly, ears twitching, his tail lashing frantically as Tord’s hand lingered at the small of his back. Tord’s grin widened, victorious yet teasing, and he tilted his head slightly. “…Come on,” he murmured, voice low, “get up. You’re not going to win by staying there.”

Tom stiffened, chest rising and falling, but he obeyed, shoving off the floor with a reluctant huff. His tail flicked sharply behind him, ears flattened, every movement betraying both his irritation and the undeniable effect Tord had over him.

Tord’s hand pressed firmly against the small of Tom’s back, guiding him forward. “…Over here,” he murmured, nodding toward the lab’s work desk. “…Let’s see if you can handle me like this.”

Tom’s eyes widened, jaw tightening. “…You’ve got to be joking,” he muttered, tail flicking nervously. “…This is ridiculous.”

Tord smirked, leaning in close enough that their foreheads brushed. “…You don’t get to decide that, Tom. Not here. Not now.” His fingers trailed teasingly along Tom’s side as he nudged him toward the edge of the desk, their hips pressing just enough to make Tom flinch. “…You’ve already lost.”

Tom let out a sharp hiss, ears twitching in irritation, his tail swishing against the floor in frustration. “…I’m not letting you just do whatever you want!” he snapped, though his flush betrayed him, and the way his body leaned against Tord—ever so slightly—said otherwise.

Tord’s grin softened into something more possessive, hand sliding along the small of Tom’s back to steady him on the desk. “…Oh, you already did,” he murmured, low and teasing, pressing closer until the heat between them was almost unbearable. “…You just haven’t admitted it yet.”

Tom’s chest heaved, tail lashing nervously, ears flicking with every subtle touch. Tord’s fingers traced along his side, teasing and measuring, until Tom’s sharp inhale betrayed him completely. Tord’s smirk deepened. “…Good. Stay right here,” he murmured, letting his hands linger possessively.

Tord’s gaze flicked down, taking in the way Tom’s tail thrashed and ears twitched with every nervous shift. His fingers itched, trembling with both restraint and desire.

“Stay still,” Tord murmured, voice low and husky, pressing just enough weight into Tom’s back to keep him on the edge of the desk. Tom’s breath hitched, eyes darting to his hands, chest heaving. “…You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, though the edge of panic in his tone betrayed his intrigue.

Tord leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of Tom’s ear. “…You’ve already lost, remember?” He let out a low groan of frustration—and something else—before bending down just enough to press his mouth to the corner of Tom’s mouth. He captured the faint trace of Tom’s own saliva on his lips, pulling back slowly. “…Let’s see how… useful this can be.”

Tom’s sharp inhale cut off any protest, eyes wide and flaring as Tord pressed a finger to his own mouth, coating it lightly with Tom’s spit. His metal hand shook slightly, heat roaring through him, but he couldn’t stop. He pushed his finger down toward Tom, trailing over his ass. Tom flinched violently, a strangled noise escaping him, and Tord felt it—the rush of control and the raw, almost painful arousal twisting in his gut.

“…Fuck me…” Tom hissed, tail twitching, ears flattening, voice tight with disbelief.

Tord’s groan was low and needy, heart hammering as he pushed two fingers inside roughly, both slick with Tom’s own spit. The sensation— Tom’s warmth clenching against Tord’s fingers, the way Tom shivered and twitched under his touch—was wrecking him faster than anything else. Every twitch of Tom’s ears, every flick of his tail, felt like fire lacing through Tord’s veins.

Tom couldn’t help but moan, tiny whines slipping past his lips that made Tord groan again, pressing just enough weight against him to feel every shiver and flush.“…You’re unbelievable,” Tom muttered, a note of exasperation in his voice, “…this is… too much.”

Tord’s laugh was harsh, needy. “…Maybe,” he admitted, voice ragged. “…But you feel so good like this. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

He dipped his fingers further, testing the slickness, the heat, the tightness, and Tom’s reactions were catastrophic—ears flicking, tail twitching, body shuddering. Tord’s chest heaved, cock pressing painfully against his own leg as he found himself unable to stop the wave of need rolling through him. Every reaction from Tom was another strike, another heat-soaked pulse through Tord’s body, and he felt like he was being melted from the inside out.

“…Shit,” he breathed, leaning his forehead against Tom’s back for a brief, agonized moment. “…God, you’re wrecking me…”

The tension between them was almost unbearable, Tord experimentally crooking his fingers just enough to ignite more fire in Tom’s veins. Tord needed more, wanted more, but the taste and feel of Tom’s helplessness under his hands was utter chaos that left him reeling. He couldn’t think; He couldn’t stop.

Tord’s fingers moved with careful precision, slick and warm, dragging Tom’s walls in a way that had him breaking. Each subtle twitch of his tail, every flick of his ears, pushed him further, faster, and Tord realized—suddenly, alarmingly—that he’d gone further than he’d meant to.

“Fuck—Tord, wait—shit—!” Tom hissed, sharp and breathless, but it was too late. The combination of Tord’s touch, his fingers, the way he couldn’t help but grind against the desk—it all hit him like a wave. Tom arched over the edge of the desk, spine stiffening, tail lashing erratically as he came hard, a sharp cry tearing past his lips.

Tord froze, staring in shock at what had just happened. He hadn’t planned this—had meant only to prep him, but the mess of sounds, movements, and heat had caught him off guard. Tom shivered, collapsing lightly against the desk, ears twitching and tail drooping with exhaustion. His feline traits made him pant softly, chest rising and falling, eyes half-lidded and glazed in the aftermath.

“…Oh,” Tord muttered, a mixture of embarrassment and awe washing over him. “…Fuck… you—shit.”

Tom’s voice was ragged, low, almost a soft growl. “…You’re impossible,” he murmured, pushing weakly against Tord’s chest with one hand, but the effort was lazy, ineffective. “…I—can’t believe you—”

Tord’s grin softened, his hands sliding to steady Tom gently against the desk. “…You’re wrecked,” he said, voice low, teasing, but laced with something softer. “…You know, I should probably stop torturing you.”

Tom groaned, tail curling slightly around the edge of the desk, ears flicking as he muttered, “…Torturing me? That’s… not exactly what I’d call it.”

Tord leaned down, pressing a light kiss to the back of Tom’s neck, brushing stray hair from his flushed forehead. “…Yeah, well… accidents happen,” he said, tone playful but possessive. “…And maybe you should get used to paying for them later.”

Tom’s eyes cracked open, a mix of annoyance and amusement flickering there. “…Oh, I will make you regret this,” he whispered, tail twitching in warning, but the soft puff of a breath betrayed his tired amusement. “…When I can… keep my eyes open.”

Tord chuckled, brushing a hand over Tom’s hair, fingers lingering possessively. “…You’re cute like this. Exhausted, a little whiny, still trying to sound tough…” He shook his head, smirk teasing but voice gentle. “…Don’t think I’m letting you go without making sure you’re okay first.”

Tom let out a soft sigh, resting his head against Tord’s chest, tail curling lazily around the edge of the desk. “…You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, voice half-lazy, half-grumpy, but Tord caught the faintest smile twitching at his lips.

Tord leaned back slightly, one hand brushing along Tom’s shoulder, the other smoothing over his ears gently. “…Yeah, well… you like it, admit it.”

Tom rolled his eyes, tail flicking with mock irritation. “…I don’t like it. You just—push every button I have,” he murmured, voice softening as exhaustion weighed heavy in his limbs. “…You’re terrible.”

“And you love it,” Tord said, smirk curling as he brushed his thumb lightly over the tip of one twitching ear. “…God, I swear, I’m going to make it up to you later.”

Tom groaned, collapsing fully onto the desk now, letting Tord drape over him lightly. “…You better,” he whispered, voice faint but teasingly threatening. “…Or you’re really paying.”

Tord pressed a final kiss to Tom’s temple, chuckling softly. “…Oh, I will,” he said, low and satisfied. “…Don’t worry. This isn’t the end of it. Not by a long shot.”

And with that, Tom’s purr-like sigh echoed softly in the quiet lab, tail flicking lazily, ears twitching, completely spent—and completely under Tord’s chaotic, possessive control.