tomtord oneshots

loveable

"Move over." Tom's voice grunted, before his face relaxed and little snores started to come out of him.

They agreed to have a sleepover (despite their rooms being literally next to eachother) a while after they established a relationship; it was very casual and neither of them took initiative to show any affection. (apart from the awkward kiss or date) They weren't on bad terms, no. They were just.. extremely awkward.

Maybe this was rushed... Neither of them didn't know how to keep it up.

After trying to do a friends with benefits kind of relationship, both of them had realised they had caught feelings. Being how blunt and straightforward the two men both were, it wasn't long before they confessed their at first- problematic feelings.

It was nice, though. Being able to get a weight off of their shoulders right when the problem was about to grow.

But, neither of the men knew how long exactly this was going to last; their relationship was pretty much exactly the same as last time; but now they didn't mind if they stole a kiss or two while the other two roommates weren't present.

Still. That didn't resolve the frequent (verbal) arguments that broke out almost everyday. It didn't resolve the slight boil in Tord's blood (and twitch in his eye) when he saw Tom do something he probably did everyday.

Yeah. Tord was pissed.

Tom was hogging the fucking blanket. It was fucking freezing. The extremely low temperatures of his room caused the norse to stir awake and shiver at the frostbite (he doesn't have it; he's just a dramaqueen) nipping at his fingers and toes.

Tord sighed, tensed his body, and used up all the little energy found in his muscles as he yanked on his rag of a blanket. He probably just needed a weighted blanket or something. He couldn't live through December with a slightly used washcloth (dramaqueen).

The force of Tord's pull caused the blanket to fly off of Tom's body, causing the brit to now wake up with a rather grumpy mood.

Oh, this was great. They were both sour and freezing in a small, chilly room.

"Dude, why do you have such a small blanket? And why do you have one pillow? Only psychopaths have one pillow to sleep." Tom whisper-yelled, voice much croakier than usual from being just-woken up. They should've prepared for two grown men sleeping in one, fairly small bed.

God, his breath stunk. Tord's face scrunched up, ignoring the brit and flopping around to face away from his boyfriend. At least he had gotten his blanket.

The norse shivered. Not anymore. When did his rag get yanked off?

Tears started to brim in Tord's eyes. The horned male forced himself to breathe quieter, as to go unheard. Why was he crying? He didn't know just missing a blanket could make him so upset.

Ah.. it wasn't the blanket.

It was Tom.

He had hoped after confessing his feelings to the brit, he could help him feel y'know.. loved. The whole point of trying to fuck him was to feel a little acknowledged.

He had amazing friends. Never did he go around ignoring Edd and Matt's (and Tom's) efforts to make him feel included. He truly did appreciate it. He just needed something... personal? something that the other person truly loved in him? (of course friends can do that, but he wanted just a step further.)

Ugh. Yeah. He felt unappreciative. Whatever. His crying was starting to calm down anyway; he might as well at least try put some effort into this relationship before judging if he was truly worth loving or not. (that came out much more edgier than intended)

After doing the quietest sniff he'd ever hear (those snotty and gross ones after crying his heart out silently), Tord clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes; trying to go to sleep. He had hoped Tom hadn't heard that. He knew the brit was exhausted and they both needed some well needed rest.

Just when he was about to start snoring, an unexpected (but very welcomed)warmth started to embrace around him. The unexpected temperature caused the norse to jolt and exclaim (very quietly) in surprise. The other's arms coiled around Tord's body and their legs started to tangle together. A very comforting smell (of his musk) filled Tord's nostrils, and that caused him to almost go limp; just relax completely against the brit. Tord swore his heart swelled once he felt Tom's chapped lips lazily press against the shell of his ear; they were spooning.

"... Love you," The eyeless man muttered, voice still raspy and lazy. His whisper was so, so quiet that Tord could barely hear him. It was hushed down to the point to where his voice almost gave away. With such casual tone of words and almost inhumane levels of quiet, he seemed almost embarrassed. But he loved Tord enough that he still did it.

He probably heard Tord. That was probably good.