TordTom Oneshots/Smutshots (Requests closed for now)

He Could've Just Asked

Thomas never really knew what he wanted. He was indecisive, which was ironically, the only thing he could make a reasonable conclusion for. He didn't exactly want to come to terms with it, as making decisions was a pretty important thing to do.
Duh.
Instead, he would try to choose the option he wouldn't normally want to choose. Spice up his life a little. All his life he would eat waffles for breakfast. Pretty specific. But when given the choice of waffles or pancakes, Tom would ultimately choose pancakes. Now, was this a little stupid? Yes, but Tom made sure to apply a few ground rules for himself in case anything got out of hand. Obviously, if he were in a dangerous situation, he would pick the safer option. If it happened to be something he knew made him sick or uneasy, he wouldn't pick it. And lastly, when it came to falling in love, Tom would never be the one to fall first. Clearly, that last one had nothing to do with decision-making, as falling in love was out of Tom's control. However, it made sense to him and it was his mind, his list.
You see, Thomas just so happened to also be very organized, which helped when considering where he was in his life right now. College had no doubt been taking a toll on his life, as he was sure it would have indefinitely. He made a list for his plans, organized his days by whatever time slot he could fit any activities into, followed a routine, and almost considered making a "backup routine" in case things went wrong. He was a control freak--he had to admit. But at least he was healthy and knew what he wanted to do every day.
But his roomate? Not so much.
Tom had the unfortunate pleasure of sharing his dorm with one other person. A man by the name of Tord, who was of Norwegian origin. He liked the colour red and did his hair weirdly (which weren't the nicest observations Thomas could make). He was violent, reckless, loud, annoying, crass, and abrasive. But at the same time he was tall, tan, muscular, charismatic, amusing, and handsome. Holy shit were the foreign ones a steal. Several times before, Tom had witnessed Tord bring back women from parties he attended to his room and do the deed with them. The only reason he went to so many parties and slept with so so many different women was because he was in a fraternity. That fact alone made Tom's blood boil. He hated those guys--and while he may not have had a reason, he knew in his head that if he had one it would be justifiable. Tord was oblivious to this, however, and would usually be bringing his friends from the frat over, pissing Thomas off beyond belief.
The two never really talked much, things would get awkward if they did. It was usually just petty arguing and stupid rambles Tord would go on about. Someone could bring up something about zombies and Tord would be all over that shit--no hesitation. Meanwhile, Tom wasn't very open about his special interests. He would keep them hidden for the most part and wasn't really fond of opening himself like that to the world. It was crystal clear the two were polar opposites, and it was the fact that they worked off of each other so well, that made Tom go crazy. Some days, he would wake up to see Tord with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, his shaggy hair and torso all wet as he stood in the kitchen making himself breakfast. The embodiment of perfection. While other days, he would be promptly told to go fuck himself while Tord was hanging out with his friends and getting high--rudely leaving the windows shut, mind you.
But Tom was indecisive, and he couldn't tell which side he liked more.

"Your room smells like shit," Tom complained one day while doing his early spring cleaning. He knew it was stupid, and he probably looked ridiculous with his giant rubber yellow gloves and his surgeon mask under his chin, but someone had to clean the dorm and he knew it wasn't going to be Tord.
"You smell like shit." Tord huffed. His body was sprawled open on the couch, his hands holding one of the Xbox controllers as if it were about to fall. He didn't look away from the television but still wore a scowl on his face.
"You look at me like I'm more disgusting than that trash heap you call a room."
"You are."
"You can't expect to live like this. Seriously, I mean, that's pitiful."
Tord just shrugged. "You act like I know what that means."
"You do know what that means! You've used it multiple times!"
Tord only sighed.
"I don't wanna nag you."
"You already are, you're in my way."
Tom just rolled his eyes and walked away, continuing his tidying. As soon as he was able to cross that off of his mental list, he could feel himself becoming the slightest bit happier--which he didn't know whether it was the saddest thing he'd ever realized or the happiest. Either way, Tom was left feeling good about himself.
He tried not to go back and forth with Tord the whole day, but sometimes it just felt as if Tord was trying to piss him off. Tom didn't bother to clean Tord's room, which meant he was forced to annoy Tord until he did it himself. The room smelt like weed and he had several bras from women he slept with hanging in his closet. Explicit Playboy magazines were lying on the floor and a half-empty bottle of lubricant was just open and sitting on his nightstand. Empty cigarette boxes found their home in Tord's dresser, and cans of Redbull lay empty and crushed on his floor, adding to the array of chaos that was his floor. Luckily, most of the mess had been put away, except for the empty cigarette boxes, which Tord almost had a mini panic attack over when Tom suggested throwing them away.
Now it was evening, the night was catching up to the two and Tord was about to head out for what seemed like the millionth time while Tom stayed back to practice his bass.
"You're so boring," Tord stated. He had startled Thomas, who jumped in response. He was too engrossed in the tuning of his guitar. Tord stood at Tom's bedroom doorway, eventually inviting himself in. He stood over Tom who sat on his bed, arms folded across his chest. "Live a little," he said, "Is this all you're going to be doing tonight?"
"Maybe." Tom huffed. He didn't look away from his guitar. "So what if it is? Why is that so important to you?"
"Trust me, it's not. But I mean, watching you get all gleeful when talking about cleaning is just...sad, man."
"It's only sad to you. I happen to enjoy cleaning. Just because you don't like something doesn't mean it's boring."
That was a lie. Tom fucking hated cleaning and he knew it. He couldn't even remember a time in which he sought joy from cleaning. Ever. He only played along with Tord's words because he wanted him to get the hell out of his room.
"Okay, okay, calm your tits," Tord uttered throwing his hands up in a mock defeat. He soon threw them back down to his sides before sighing. It looked like it pained him to say whatever it was he was about to say. "Look, my friends and I are heading to another dorm to have a party-"
Tom's head shot up, his face drenched in disbelief.
"Now I'm not saying you have to come. And I'm not inviting you either. Just know that-"
"-Wait here and lemme get dressed."
Tord didn't even finish his sentence. He just nodded with a grin on his face and headed out the door.