Tord tugged a blanket over his lap, one hand swinging lazily off the couch. There was a documentary playing on the television, but he could really care less for what it's about.

"Aye, commie." Tord looked up to see Tom nonchalantly leaning on the wall. He was good at hiding it, but Tord guessed the black-eyed man needed the wall for balance.

"What?" he replied, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

"Where's Edd and Matt?" Tom's words were slurred and it took Tord all but a few seconds to realize he was probably drunk.

"They went to the store like every Sunday, you drunk," Tord snapped, turning his head back to the television.

"In this weather?" There was a hint of concern in his voice, not that Tord cared.

As if it were summoned, a loud boom of thunder shook the house, Tord stifling a laugh when Tom jumped. "It's just a thunderstorm, Jehovah's Witness. They'll survive."

"Do you know when they'll get back?" he asked, eyes wide.

Tord let out a frustrated sigh, throwing his head back to glare at Tom. "I don't know. Come here."

Tom blinked, but did as he was told, all while asking, "Why?"

The Norwegian didn't answer, watching him as he got closer. His walking was uneven, and he wasn't walking in a straight line. When he stood in front of the couch, Tord ordered, "Sit down."

Tom crossed his arms. "Is this some creepy shit you Norski's do?" he spat, matching Tord's gaze as the Norwegian sat up.

"Why can't you follow—" he grabbed Tom by the hips and spun the British man around— "one simple—" one hand still on Tom's hip, he grasped Tom's hood— "order?" With that, he tugged on Tom's hood and pulled the Brit down.

"Ow," was all he said, rubbing the front of his neck.

"Now you stay sitting, and don't make a damn peep, got it?" Tord snarled, not waiting for an answer as he grabbed the remote and increased the volume.

"Put on a shirt, commie."

Tord glared at Tom. "What the hell did I just say?" Tom went silent, his stare still trained on Tord. He didn't bother to react.

"Is that a tattoo?"

Tord left out a hefty sigh, rubbing one of his temples. "Yes, Thomas, it's a tattoo."

"It looks stupid. Like your hair."

Tord glanced at his own shoulder. It was the Red Army symbol. Tom, the drunken bitch, had insulted the symbol to the army he lead.

That was the final straw.

He threw the blanket off of him before standing, whipping his head around to face Tom. "Don't you dare think about moving, Thomas."

Tom blinked in surprise before shrugging. "Whatever you wish, hot stuff."

Tord scoffed before stomping away and down the hallway. The stupid fucking Brit decided to annoy him, so it was Tord's responsibility to get him to shut the fuck up.

Swinging the door open, he rushed inside and toward his nightstand. He pulled the bottom drawer and grabbed the same red box they had used last session and threw the top open before grabbing the lube and a black marker, shoving the items into the pocket of his sweatpants.

Honestly, maybe he had too many sex toys, but with the Brit as his new plaything, he had someone to use them on.

At one point, he wanted to introduce Tom to the pit. Not yet, though. He didn't want to scare the poor thing off.

He pulled out a black collar, which had a leash trailing off of a hook on the side. Painted on the front was his symbol. The symbol Tom had insulted.

Really, he was going to make the fucker pay.

Not bothering to close the toy box, he placed it on the nightstand and rushed out of the room.

Behind his annoyance was rising excitement. He would have a lot of fun using Tom. His frown was overtaken by a sinister grin as he thought of the Brit squirming desperately underneath him, wearing nothing but a collar...

Damn, if he wasn't horny before, he was horny now.

When he arrived back in the living room, Tom had been obedient enough to stay sitting, though he looked ready nod off. The Brit was going to wake up soon enough.

He only realized Tom was aware of his presence when the Brit said, "What the fuck are you holding, Fry?"

Tord sighed irritably at the nickname, a snarl on his lips. "If you're going to act like a disobedient bitch, you're going to be treated like one."

Tom's gaze slid from Tord's pissed of face to the collar. "Whadya gonna do?" he slurred, eyes wide.

Walking toward Tom, the Norwegian unhooked the collar. "This," he stated simply before wrapping the collar around Tom's neck, snapping it together.

Tom's hands flew up to the collar, tugging at it. Tord had purposely made it tight(not tight enough to choke Tom) so the Brit couldn't get it off. "You piece of shit," Tom snarled, "is this because I insulted your stupid tattoo?"

Tord took one glance at the leash in his hand and, in a sharp and sudden movement, pulled as hard as he could.

"Shit!" Tom shouted as he was forced off the couch. "You god damn commie!"

"If you can't behave, you'll be treated like a dog," he sneered in response, tugging the leash gently.

Tom sighed, placing his head in his hands as he stood. "You kinky bastard."

"You're just as kinky as I am, Tom," he said as he walked back to the couch, sitting down. "Now, you can either sit on the floor or on my lap."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

Tom glanced at the floor then at Tord, seemingly assessing his options.

His defeat began with a sigh and a smug grin from Tord, his feet moving without permission.

Tord still held the leash in his hand, Tom sneaking a look at it before he turned around and sat down.

Hands wrapped around his waist and soft kisses being pressed into the spots of his neck that weren't covered, though the stupid fucking collar and his sweatshirt was getting in the way.

As if Tord could read his thoughts, hands were pulling on his sweatshirt. He lifted his arms up and in seconds his sweatshirt was discarded, thrown off to the side.

Then, teeth were sinking down into the skin where his shoulders and neck connected, and Jesus fucking Christ that hurt. Tom let out a drunken squeak of pain, but he didn't move in fear of the teeth tearing further at his skin.

Tord removed his teeth from Tom, gently kissing the bleeding marks.

"You bastard," Tom snarled, whipping his head around to glare at Tord. The Norwegian did not respond, sliding his hands down to Tom's shirt, ready to take it off, but Tom rushed to grab Tord's hands.

"Hmm?" Tord hummed into his ear, yet not making any moves.

Tom had sex with Tord without a shirt for two of the six chapters(not counting his dream), and he sure as hell didn't want to make it three out of seven, because, ya know, he was self-conscious and Tord was a muscled army man with abs and chiseled arms and while Tom wasn't weak, he still had a pudgy stomach and he didn't want Tord to judge him, because god he was really fucking ugly and he doubted that would change no matter how many times his friends said he wasn't and he's rambling again, isn't he?

"Tom?"

His face heated up when he realized how long he had been silent, so he just delicately squeezed Tord's hands and sputtered out, "N-no. I wanna keep my- I wanna keep my, uh, my shirt on."

Oh god, he had stuttered way too much.

"Alright," Tord mused, not questioning Tom's request. "If I do something you don't like or I take it too far, say brownie, okay?"

Tom snorted, trying to pretend his little freak out didn't happen. "Brownie is a stupid safe word."

Tord gripped Tom's wrists tight, causing him to wince slightly. "Would you rather there be no safe word?"

He visibly swallowed. "Brownie is a great safe word."

Tord let out a husky laugh into his ear, sending shivers down his spine, because oh dear that was hot. "Good choice."

He gently nibbled on Tom's ear, hands still gripping the Brit's wrists. Tom could feel a giggle stuck in his throat as Tord continued to nip at various places on Tom's ear.

Then he began to grind up against Tom, which took the poor thing by surprise. "How about we play a game, Thomas?"

"Wha...?" He glanced back at Tord in confusion.

"Let's play Would You Rather. I'll ask the questions and you'll answer them. Honestly."

"Uhm... okay," Tom replied hesitantly. Tord's voice was full of hidden malice, which made Tom kind of anxious.

But they had a safe word.

He'll be fine.

"Would you rather have sex with the lights on or off?" Tord pushed his a hand under Tom's shirt, thumb rubbing the Brit's waist.

"On?" Tom replied, but it sounded more like a question than an answer.

Tord reached his free hand to the lamp on the table, clicking it off. Darkness enveloped the room in time with a crash of thunder that reminded Tom how heavily it was raining. "Would you rather be on top of me or below me?"

Tom let out a panicked breath before saying, "On top?"

Tord pushed Tom off of his lap, forcing him down. He placed his fingers on the hem of Tom's jeans and was tugging them off, Tom shifting to get them off, along with his briefs. Once they were discarded, Tord moved so he was hovering over Tom.

After that, it took Tom a matter of seconds to realize what Tord was doing. "You mother fucker," he snarled, narrowing his eyes as he glared at Tord.

The Norwegian's face was only visible thanks to the television, giving Tom the ability to see his stupidly smug features. "Remember, Tom, you answer honestly. Otherwise I'll have to punish you."

Tom let out a breathy laugh. "Punish me?" he mocked as Tord pulled out the bottle of lube.

Tord didn't respond, squirting lube and at that moment a rush of heat swallowed Tom's face because he realized how damn vulnerable he was like this. What was worse was the fact that it was Tord, the cocky Norwegian with a sexy, shit-eating grin that he hated, that put him in this position.

God, this situation was fucked up.

"Would you rather have two or three fingers inside of you?"

The sentence caught Tom off-guard, figuring he had just spaced out. "Two," he answered confidently, only to feel one, two, and three sliding inside of him and holy treehouses on fire, that felt weird.

Tord dug his digits inside of Tom, spreading him gently, eliciting a very quiet whine.

He hated teasing. He just wanted Tord to pick him up and fuck the hell out of him.

Tord twisted his fingers around, occasionally pushing in and out. Tom reached to grab his own cock, because god, he was uncomfortably erect at this point, but Tord slapped his hand away. "No," he warned firmly. Pulling his fingers out, Tord sent Tom a smug grin. "Would you rather be fucked slowly or fast and hard?"

Oh, god. He knew if he responded with the truth, Tord would just go slow as hell. So, that left him with one option.

Lie.

"Slowly," he answered, watching as Tord began to pull something else out of his pocket.

The Norwegian sighed, shaking his head. "You know what I said, Thomas. Answer honestly or be punished."

One of his hands flew to the collar on his neck. "T-that wasn't a lie!" Tom futilely defended, glaring at Tord.

"You're not a very good liar," Tord said and suddenly, Tom felt a cool tip press against his pelvis, taking all but a few moments for Tom to realize the Norwegian was writing on him.

"Wait, what are you writing?" Tom protested as Tord moved to his inner thigh.

"Maybe I could take a picture and show you," Tord suggested, not bothering to hide how smug he was. "Not right now, though." He moved to Tom's other thigh.

"You'll use it to jack off, I'm guessing?" Tom mocked, which earned a quiet laugh from Tord.

"Probably."

Tom sighed just as Tord removed the marker from Tom's skin. He knew he'd probably regret this when he was sober, but... "As long as you don't show it to anybody."

Tord's head shot up, eyes widening in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah, but you have to promise," Tom said, trying to keep the anxiety from making his voice shake.

Tord's face softened for a split second before returning to his shit-eating grin. "I promise I won't show it to anybody." He tossed the marker aside and squirted some lube onto his hand.

Tom watched hungrily as the Norwegian rubbed the lube into his cock and Tom's eyes fluttered just a bit from excitement.

Hey, it wasn't Tom's fault that Tord's stupid fucking cock looked thick and veiny, with a little bit of pre-come dribbling off the side and god, he felt really warm just looking at it.

"You don't have to stare at my dick every time I whip it out, Tom."

Tom glared at Tord. "Would you just fuck me already, you stupid fucking commie?"

Tord shifted, hand on his cock as he led it toward Tom's entrance. With that, he slowly pushed inside.

And Tom means slowly.

He felt an angry whine on his lips, barely holding it back as he glared at Tord. "You're honestly such an ass."

"You're honestly drunk off your ass," Tord shot back, though he was looking a little flustered. Noticing Tom's angry stare, the Norwegian leaned over and gently flicked his nose. "Hey, you asked me to fuck you slowly."

"That's not fair. You know I was lying." Tom rubbed his nose, scrunching up his face. Tord was completely inside of him at this point.

"So you admit you were lying?" Tord began to rock into him at a steady pace, a stupidly pleased smile plastered onto his flushed face as Tom let out a grunt.

"If I 'admitted' it, would you act- hahh." Tom let out a little moan, eyes squinted in pleasure. "Actually... f-fuck..."

"I dunno, you seem to be enjoying this," Tord responded, speeding up his pace right up against his sweet spot and good Jehovah, that felt wonderful.

But it wasn't enough.

He wanted— no, scratch that, he needed Tord to stop being such a huge dick and needed Tord to just hurry up and fuck him already!

"More," he growled out after a moment, rolling his hips back in time with the gentle thrusts.

Tord was panting just a little bit, Tom's mind mumbling 'hot', which he covered up quickly with mental insults directed at Tord. "Yeah? What's the secret word?" Tord teased, tracing a finger over Tom's lips.

"Seriously, commie?" Tom spat in response when the finger was off his face, glaring at Tord with a passion. "Begging? Didn't know that was a kink you had."

"Well, are you gonna indulge in my kink or what?" the Norwegian replied with no hesitation, slowing his pace and god did Tom want to slit his throat.

Tom spread his legs as far as the couch would let him, hiding his smile when he noticed Tord perk up. "Tord, I actually just want you to fuck me right now. Please?" Tom tried.

Tord let out a deep chuckle and oh gee, that was kinda hot. "That was pathetic, Thomas. Can't you do better?"

Tord wrapped his hand around Tom's cock as he continued to rock into Tom, and he was seeing stars. "F... ah... fuck me like mean it, you st... stupid fucking commie."

"Really, you suck this," Tord said, all movements stopping, Tom letting out in irritated whine.

"I want you—" he gave Tord the biggest glare he could muster— "to fuck me hard and fast. Is that too much to ask, Tord?" he snarled and Tord flashed him that same shit-eating grin.

"I guess I can do that for you," Tord teased before leaning in really fucking close to Tom, so close it made him uncomfortable. Then, Tord was pressing his lips into Tom's as he bucked hard into the tight heat.

Tom could've sworn his eyes rolled into the back of his head, his mouth opened slightly as Tord moved from his lips to his chin, down his neck and those kisses were soft and gentle and Tom didn't know he could love kisses so much.

The kisses, however, didn't match his pace.

Whatsoever.

Tord was jackhammering into him and god, he felt like he was in heaven. One of Tord's hands were in his hair, the other gripping his hip tightly while Tom wrapped his hands around Tord.

Then, Tord sunk his teeth into Tom's shoulder, on the opposite side of the previous bite. He was arching his back, clutching Tord's sweatshirt with a passion, biting back a loud moan.

Tom could feel the heat pooling in his stomach, but apparently, Tord beat him to the punch. Tom felt the familiar feeling of warmth filling him, then Tord pulling out and backing up, Tom letting his arms fall to his side as he glared at Tord.

Then, Tord had his phone in hand and Tom heard the snap and he realized Tord had just taken a picture of him. He could feel the ire building up inside of him but he reminded himself that he had given the Norwegian permission.

He felt a hand wrap around his cock and in a few pumps, Tom was coming.

Using his other hand, Tord unhooked the collar that was around Tom's neck, placing it on the coffee table.

Panting, Tom rolled over onto his side. "Where did... did you put my pants?" Tom asked, placing a hand underneath him and lifting himself up into a sitting position.

Tord reached down from the couch and grabbed all of Tom's extra clothing, tossing it to the British man.

"Thanks," Tom mumbled, pulling the sweatshirt over himself. Then, he grabbed the rest of his clothes. "Turn on the fucking light," he slurred, tired and still drunk.

Not bothering to question the order, Tord did as he was told as Tom shakily stood.

He gave Tord one last glance as he said, "Have a good night, commie."

God, what a weird way to end a night of sex.

"You too, Jehovah's Witness."

With that, Tom tugged his sweatshirt over himself and rushed out of the living room and down the hallway, almost tripping with every step.

He practically ran into his room, closing his door behind him and collapsing on the bed.

He knew he'd have to take a shower, but... not right now.

DING!

Tom looked up to his nightstand. He sat up and grabbed his phone, glancing at the screen.

Image sent by Tord

Furrowing his eyebrows, he quickly opened the text message.

He was met with a picture.

Of himself.

White come was dribbling out of his pink hole, his cock still erect and a lewd look on his face.

Plus, he had very... crude comments written on his skin.

On his left thigh, 'filthy whore' was written.

On his pelvis, 'PROPERTY OF TORD' was written.

On his right thigh, 'cumslut' was written.

His face was on fire.
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okay before the funny thing,,, y'all can request what you want to see next. I'm willing to repeat stuff too(e.g. I bring in the collar again— OH FUCK I FORGOT TO TAKE THE FUCKING COLLAR OFF
ok I'm back, I fixed it, like I was saying, you guys can request what you want to see next, thanks

so this is kinda off topic but it's funny and I thought y'all would enjoy it

help me it's 3am