Archive of Our Own

The air smelled like ash. 

That wasn’t uncommon on the battlefield, but something about it made his skin crawl. There was an eerie silence for the time of day, an unsettling darkness he couldn’t quite place. He walked carefully out from the embankment, still without a body in sight, living or dead. For some reason he couldn’t hear his own breathing even in the terrible quiet.

They came from nowhere. Impossible numbers of soldiers, jumping and shouting and moving as one. Faster than seemed like should be possible, even with the enhancements he knew were available. Their attacks were merciless in the same way a machine is. Abrupt, efficient, frighteningly devoid of compassion or error. They were gone just as quickly as they had arrived, as though they had never been there at all, as though they had never existed. All of his hard work, all of his preparation to prevent something like this from happening, snuffed in an instant. 

He was splayed out flat on his back in a pool of his own blood. Trapped. Paralyzed. The rise and fall caused by his own frenzied breathing was the only motion for miles. It was so much warmer than the stories he'd heard made it seem like it should be. Was cooling so much faster than he’d thought it would as it grew.

Tord opened his eyes.

His entire body was drenched in sweat, his back soaked from lying in it. His heart pounded in his chest like it was trying to hurt him. The blanket he'd had was in a haphazard pile some feet away, his limbs all akimbo. It took a couple seconds of watching the ceiling to convince himself he wasn't dying. He hadn't had one of those in a while; long enough to convince himself that maybe, just maybe, he was actually getting better. That the past he'd created was going to stay in the past. That moving on was a possibility. 

He felt around in his drawer for a cigar. 

The night was, unfortunately, beautiful.

It was easy - really, worryingly easy - to forget sometimes that the world he lived in now was the same one he’d tried to destroy. That the peace and serenity known by the people in it was because he had failed. If any of them knew the truth, what a monster he had been, he certainly wouldn’t be permitted to share it with them. And the only reason they didn’t was the tenuous bond of trust between him and the only three people on the planet who knew he was still alive. A trust he’d had no choice but to place in them. To beg them for. After everything he had done to deserve being turned in. After he turned his back on the people he trusted for the last time, he threw himself on the mercy of the ones he’d done it to first. 

The balcony of their new apartment wasn’t very big, but a nice little addition to the place, and a convenient escape for those nights where Tord was haunted by himself. They were only a few stories up, but the elevation over the rest of the neighborhood was enough that it felt a bit more private. Standing up over the world like that made him feel sentimental in some small way. Leaning over the rail to the people below. His eyes blurred over. 

His last address. Nobody had known that it would be, except for him. Paul and Patryck flanked him on either side as usual, their steps locked with his. A hundred thousand expectant faces waited for him below, waited for the news of their victory and the plans of what was to come. How many years he had engaged and roused them, lifting them up to celebration of success or consolation in defeat, always prepared by then with the next step. Promising that no matter how challenging this was or how long it took, it was their duty to carry on because their work was going to change the world. He felt something almost like nostalgia as he scanned the sea of bodies for the last time. 

He had always been a great speaker. He wove tales of the future they would make together, with no injustice, no illness or injury. It would be beautiful, and it would be worth it. Regardless of what the cost was, regardless of how many human lives got taken as a result, it would be worth it. So it was difficult, for one last time, to tell them what they needed to hear. It had been a long time since he had been certain in the convictions he preached. 

He thought he’d feel guiltier. He thought it would be more difficult to face down his bodyguards, his confidantes, his two closest friends on this earth and the only ones left he could really still trust, knowing that he planned not to be there when they next woke. But as the days passed and the prospect loomed taller and taller, the dread in his gut was slowly replaced with a blooming apathy. 

They say an animal that knows it's about to die will hide, try to find somewhere to be alone for it. This always seemed to Tord like the dumbest way one could possibly handle the act of dying. Even if you know the end is very near, with no way to stop it, wouldn’t you want a little comfort? Wouldn’t you want to be near those who love you, if there are any? Wouldn’t you want to lay out in the sun instead, relishing your last moments of bliss before they ran out? How stupid, how pathetic and feeble, to go into the corner and just wait for death to come. 

He was starting to understand why. 

The plan worked, of course. They never found a body, but they did find the DNA scraps he’d planted. They did find evidence of a struggle. They did find, perhaps most damningly, what remained of his coat. He tried not to think about what must have happened after that, when he ran. Bringing the news back to the troops that their leader was dead. He tried not to wonder who had found the scene. 

It all came crumbling down almost immediately. He’d known it would, of course. There was nobody qualified to take his place, nobody who had his mind for strategy or his skills in robotics, nobody who would be able to spearhead the experiments he’d begun. Nobody who could give his soldiers a reason for their cause anymore. They’d unsuccessfully try to find somebody while Paul and Pat scrambled to fill his shoes for just a short while, running themselves ragged and it would all slip away from them slowly, slowly, until it became clear that there would be no more moving forward without him, and they would scatter.

They would mourn him for a long, long time. They would weep at the gravesite they made him despite there having been no body to bury. They would beg his forgiveness that they had failed, that they weren’t there to protect him in the moment he needed it most and weren’t even strong enough to carry on his life’s work when he was gone.

He tried not to think about it.

Even now when he was in the very last place he had to return to, with undeserved forgiveness and a life he could almost pretend was just like the one he left behind all those years ago, he couldn’t find it in himself to settle. He couldn’t watch movies with Edd or pull pranks on Matt or even bicker about nothing with Tom without feeling with disconcerting certainty that he was living on borrowed time. They’d come to their senses and turn him in, or else the truth about his identity would come to light somehow and he’d have to run again, do everything in his power to prevent them from getting mixed up in it. How was he supposed to want to wake up each morning and continue making amends, rebuild the life he tore apart piece by tiny piece, when it was only a matter of time? He did it anyway, he did it scared and sad and so, so guilty, but deep down his bones screamed to go and find his dark hole somewhere and lay down to die. 

He put the cigar between his teeth and lit it before he could spiral any further down that train of thought. Gulped down a hungry inhale of it and let it out slow. 

“Edd hates it when you smoke, you know.” 

Tord started at the sound, whipping around to see Tom hunched over on the ground. He didn't turn to look at him, just chuckled into the glass he was holding. “Didn't see me, did ya?”

Bristling, Tord took another quick drag and blew it off into the sky. “Can I assume that's why you come here to drink?” 

Tom's smile immediately withered and a coil of regret instantly snaked through Tord. Still facing away, he took a drink. A long, uninterrupted drink. “I,” he said after he'd finished, with more bravado than before. “Have a lot less to make up to him than you do.” 

“He's long since forgiven the both of us.” 

Finally he turned his head to face Tord, with an expression that clearly indicated the bitter taste in his mouth had nothing to do with the alcohol. “And that's fine. But not all of us share his mindset.” 

“You shot me,” Tord said slowly, his even tone practiced. “With a fucking harpoon. I'd call it even.” 

Tom leapt to his feet with alarming agility. “I beg to differ,” he snapped. “This has nothing to do with ‘even.’ You disappear for years, come back with the apocalypse on your heels, and you think nothing will have changed?” He closed the gap between them, such an already-narrow span, now made terrifyingly miniscule. “I always thought you were trouble, but I never expected that world fucking domination was your agenda. So, no, you and I are absolutely not even.” 

“Look, I'm sorry!” Tord sputtered. He seemed to be suffocating despite the pleasant night air. “How many times do you need me to say it??” 

Tom looked down his nose in disgust. “At least a couple more.” He drained his glass, refusing to cede any space in their closeness, leaving Tord no option but to scrabble against the wall behind him, puffed up like a cat. “You may want to go ahead and get started.” He took the cigar from Tord's hand before he could react and put it out just as quickly against the wall. 

“I-- I am sorry.” Tord didn't know what to do with his hands anymore, settled for wringing them in front of his chest, purposeless. Tom was still holding his cigar and every passing second he felt a little more inclined, stupidly, to ask for it back. “If you don't believe me, I can’t blame you, but there's not really anything else I can do!” 

A silence passed between them, contemplative. “Unless,” Tord coughed after a minute. “Unless there is something I could do. And I'd be happy to, sincerely, if you could tell me what it was.” 

Tom pursed his lips. He never broke eye contact - probably - but he seemed to be turning words over in his mouth, testing the feel of them. “Do you remember,” he said carefully. “That one night, back in ‘07?” 

Inescapable red heat shot across Tord’s face. Of course he did. There had been a spat that quickly became, as it sometimes did, a real fight. Edd and Matt had gone out to a movie or they would have put a stop to it long before it got to the point of broken noses and hands around throats. They had probably never been as close as they were then, with Tord slammed up against the ground, his hips weighed down by Tom’s body, his legs pinned. Tord was hard. So was Tom. 

When they were finished they went back to their rooms. They had never spoken of it.

“There’s something you should probably know,” Tom sighed, looking off into the night sky.

“You didn't- you haven't told them about that, have you?!” Tord nearly yelled, wondering if maybe dying in an explosion would have been preferable to this conversation. 

Tom did something that might have been laughing. “No,” he said, “no. It's just that, since you left, the three of us have gotten…” He made a face like his mouth was full of marbles he was trying not to swallow. “Involved,” he said at last. 

Tord blinked up at him. The rush of blood to his head was a new one. “Oh.” 

“You were going to hear about it at some point.” Tom shrugged. Tord tried very hard not to think about his best friends’ bodies rolling together. “When you came back, it was one of the first things Edd wanted to talk about, actually.” 

“...oh.” 

Tom shifted uncomfortably. “He was going to ask you what you thought about the whole thing after we all got settled in a little better. And, well…” He huffed out a short breath. 

“Yeah.” Tord shuffled his feet. “Well.” 

The night carried on silently around them. 

“I don't know if you think that's weird,” Tom said after a while. “I mean, if you do, I don't really care, but. I didn't really want that to come as a surprise.” He huffed out a small laugh. “The two of them can be a little… clingy. It’s been kind of weird for them, trying to keep it reined in. And now I guess they don’t have to, so there’s that.” 

“Why…” Tord cleared his throat, tried again. “Why do you. Mention it?”

Tom chewed on his lip. “That night. Did you… like that?”

Now Tord was definitely certain that dying would have been the better option. 

All those years he had tamped down on the guilt he couldn't quite shake as he writhed alone in bed. It wasn't just that he still thought about that night, but that, honestly, the hand rubbing both of their cocks in tandem while Tom's face was buried in his collarbone decidedly not looking at him took a backseat to what came before. The memory of the hands wringing his neck hard, with no pretense of gentleness or any intention of letting go, stood front and center in his mind no matter how he tried to wave it away. 

Hell, if he didn't know any better, he'd think that if it hadn't been for what happened next, Tom might have really killed him. And that was what made his dick hard. 

What a sick fuck he was, getting off on well-deserved suffering. 

A pathetic whimper leaked out from Tord’s mouth before he could stop it and Tom turned to see his face, screwed up like it was trying to swallow itself whole. He puffed out a little breathy laugh. “I think,” he said slowly. “You feel guilty. And I feel angry. And I think there’s probably something we could do to make us both feel better.” 

They hurried back to Tom’s room with the frantic energy of two young lovers about to fuck for the first time. It was humiliating in a way, really, being so giddy, tiptoeing softly down the hall so they didn’t wake the others, his chest high and tight with anticipation. The way Tom closed the door behind them carefully like they were trying not to get caught. He felt stupid, so stupid and childish and yet he had butterflies in the weirdest way. 

Tom eyed him over, looking up and down the expanse of Tord’s body for his angle of entry. Tord fought not to quiver with anticipation, stood his ground and waited. He didn’t want the first move anyway. 

The first punch came as a surprise despite him watching it happen, rounding his cheek with astonishing speed. Something ancient stirred and his cheeks flared red. The adrenaline that had been building snapped to life in his veins, every nerve alight all at once. He was still reeling from it when the second one came, beating him back in the opposite direction. When did he get so strong?? 

Tord delivered a mild blow to Tom’s gut, watching him flinch away, then bare his teeth. “What was that?” he said, his voice already deeper and a little raspy. “Don’t be soft. Hit me.” 

“Are you sure?” Tord asked, the words cut off by Tom’s fist landing again on his sternum this time. He stumbled backwards, eyes terribly wide, pain radiating outward in spikes.

Tom closed the gap between them. Grounded himself. “I’m sure.” He raised his hands back to a ready stance. “Fucking hit me like you mean it.”

An easy smile split Tord’s face open. “Well then.” He shook off the ache in his chest. “Let’s dance, old friend.”

Tom growled just like he’d thought he would in response and lunged, but Tord was quick enough to have his hands around Tom’s forearms. He spun around, the inertia of Tom’s movement carrying him through, and ducked down to release Tom spilling onto the floor. “Shit!” he gasped, scrambling against the carpet. 

“Do you want me to really hit you or not?” Tord said tauntingly, lighting up at the way Tom glowered in response. “Because if you want to win, I could always--”

Tom was back on his feet already, grabbing a handful of Tord’s shirt and bringing his other one up against Tord’s gut. His knee quickly followed, a flash of pain that made Tord’s eyes water. Tord tried to dart a hit up at Tom’s chin between his arms, but without enough room, Tom easily pinned his arm between their bodies and reared his head back, giving him enough space to get Tord across the cheek again.

Hissing in pain, Tord slammed his foot down on Tom’s, wriggling out of his grasp when he yelped and leapt away. “Piece of shit,” Tom snarled. “You wanna play dirty? That’s fine.”

Before Tord knew what was happening, Tom had leapt onto him, pushing down hard on both his shoulders with a strangled grunt. The wind was knocked from Tord as together they fell to the floor, his hands both reaching out to latch on to Tom’s forearms without thought. A dull thud pounded on his abdomen as Tom’s hips landed on top of his body, keeping him pinned with his weight. He cried out in pain, not having the presence of mind to register Tom’s hands until they were already around his throat. He squeezed slightly, almost like he was just testing the give, and Tord’s breathing became quick and heavy. It was just like that day, all those years ago. A wide grin overtook Tord’s face, aching where his cheeks were growing bruises. 

“Why the fuck are you smiling?” Tom snapped, and Tord’s gut twisted. “Like you didn’t have anything to do with this. Like you don’t deserve it.” Tom grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanking him up high to keep their faces close. “This was all you. You earned this, you smarmy bastard.” 

Something intense and almost hopeful blossomed painfully in Tord’s chest. He had analyzed his own psyche enough in his life that he had anticipated the usual numbness following an attack on his character, even more so to an actual attack on his person. Detached enough to smile at the danger, every time. It was starting to make him panic that that wasn’t happening, that the bubbling laughter he couldn’t keep from spilling out was coming from something real within himself. He couldn’t stop it even as Tom’s expression grew even meaner, a terrified lump in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he wheezed. “I can’t help it, I’m not…”

Tom’s other hand reached up to grasp Tord’s jaw roughly. “Either tell me what’s going on,” he growled. “Or knock it off.” 

“I’m sorry, I know you’re upset, but I just…” Tord shook off the rest of a chuckle. “We haven’t done this in so long. And I guess I missed it.”

Instantly Tom’s expression softened, his knuckles loosening slightly in their grasp. “And I guess I missed.” Tord swallowed hard. “You. In some way.” Tom’s mouth opened and closed, no words coming out, while Tord couldn’t seem to stop his own. “I know that’s fucked up, and the things I’ve done…” He stumbled over the feeling of distantly rising tears. “You don’t have to forgive me, Tom. I don’t think I could if I were you. But just getting to share this, this weird thing just one more time with you, you don’t know what it means to me--”

All of a sudden Tom’s lips were on his.

There was a certain responsibility that came with being a leader that Tord hadn’t entirely prepared for.

He knew that, especially in a case like his, he was going to be expected to perform his duties successfully and without hesitation at any and all hours of the day. He knew that his personal life would slowly but surely dwindle into nothing, and that after a certain time there would be nothing left of him but his leadership. He knew this, and he was willing to do it, because somebody had to.

It was with this in mind that he first began laying the framework for what the leader would become. The Red Leader was someone people could look up to, someone they could depend on. He had to be somebody who was defined by his inability to fail. If he refused to let himself stay down, if he always got back up no matter how bloodied he got, then he would truly be a pillar of what he represented. The Red Leader executed missions, oversaw battlefields of soldiers with a keen eye, and secured victory no matter what. The Red Leader did not lose. 

It was hard to be these things all the time, but he was able. It was more difficult than he thought it would be to compartmentalize himself. But he was doing it.

The worst part was that it felt good. That wasn’t part of the plan. That wasn’t who the Red Leader was supposed to be. But launching missions and seeing them through to completion, testing theories that turned out to be true, running government infiltration that confirmed what he believed all along, it felt good to have power like that. The rush he got from victory was indescribable. A devastating distraction, and an unacceptable one, but he had never felt so alive before. He knew, without a doubt, that he was well on his way to the kind of power he would need to see his ideas through. The kind that had corrupted countless rulers before him and was ultimately the cause of their downfall. He had no intention of letting it be the thing that destroyed him. Failure was not an option. 

The only solution, then, was to sever any personal connection to the work that he possibly could. If the joy some tiny, sick part of him took at conquering the globe inch by inch would ruin that, he would become numb to his emotions entirely. He would rewire his own brain if that’s what it came down to. It couldn’t be hard. 

The Red Leader was thorough, exacting, and without pause. He treated his science experiments and his most trusted operatives with the same detached indifference. He did not need the contentment of living day-to-day when his real reward would come from completing his work. He became what he represented, towered tall as a concept over the army that would never know his real name. The Red Leader had no need for a name, anymore.

“Paul,” he’d said one day while they were enjoying a rare moment’s silence in his office. “If I ever start to love this, I want you to kill me.”

Paul blinked back at him, frozen. “...what?”

He ran his fingers down the grooves of his gun, feeling the familiar weight. “I’m serious. If you have any reason to believe that I’m waging this war for my own personal satisfaction, I want you to put a bullet in my head without hesitation.”

Somewhat uncomfortably, Paul laughed. “Well, sure, boss.” His eyebrows were concerned, his mouth pinned up in a forced smile. “Where did this come from all of a sudden?”

“Just something I’ve been musing on.” He rubbed back and forth on the polished wood with his thumb idly. “After all, those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it, right?” 

Paul had looked up at him like he was crazy, like maybe he just wasn’t in on the joke. He expected to see some remorse or a hint that he was exaggerating. He was worried about his leader. He was worried about his friend. 

Tord didn’t feel anything.

He kind of thought it was always going to be that way, after everything. He didn’t think the weight of the world was going to leave his shoulders until he died, so he might as well get comfortable. He could get used to a life without feeling. In some ways, he already had. He had resigned himself to the notion that even if he could live a mostly fulfilling life back with the other boys again, the colors of happiness would be muted at best. But this, the rush of sensations - longing, fear, guilt, elation - that swarmed his brain hurt, pushing up against his skin like it needed out. 

It was nothing more than a gentle kiss that lasted a brief moment, and when Tom pulled away, his face was flushed all red and his eyebrows were raised high like he didn’t believe what had just happened. They stared at each other, silent. “Why?” Tord said at last.

“I don’t know,” Tom mumbled. “It seemed like… what you needed.” He frowned as his cheeks burned brighter, looking away. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“No, it- it’s okay.” Tom’s fist was still balled up hard in the fabric of Tord’s shirt, with Tord’s hands clasped around Tom’s wrists, both of them swelling and slowly leaking blood, straddling on the floor with their faces mere inches apart. This was… new. “Is, er, is it okay with the guys if you…?”

Tom chuckled a bit. “Yes, actually.” He awkwardly let Tord back down to the floor, a few half-hearted little strokes smoothing his rumpled chest in apology. “You should’ve probably heard this from all of us, but. Edd and Matt were actually talking about asking you to join in, once they thought for sure we could trust you and made you learn your lesson a little bit.” He smiled, something bittersweet in it. “And, you know. After I got over it.” 

Tord’s chest felt like it was going to start lifting him up. “They were?”

“Yep.” Tom let out a wistful sigh. “Edd always used to say it was a shame that you’d left before we did any of this. Thought that you would have liked it. And I always thought that sounded like wishful thinking, but, well.” He looked down at Tord, and he looked absolutely glowing. “Here we are.”

The room spun around them, Tord’s head alight with feelings he hadn’t had in years. “Oh, wow.”

“If you’d like,” Tom said gingerly. “In the morning we can talk about it with them together.”

Tord felt the corners of his mouth bunching up, already stiff and sore. “I… I think that would be nice.”

“It’s a date, then. But for right now.” In an instant Tom’s hands seized Tord’s wrists, slamming them to the ground above his head. The wind was knocked from his lungs all over again, so caught in between lust and vulnerability. “You’re all mine. Got it?”

Before he could answer, Tom swooped in to bite at Tord’s neck, his response shredding apart into little noises that ripped out of him without permission. He was still grinning stupidly, heart pounding and dazed exhales that wanted to become laughs gushing out. He pressed up hard against Tom’s weight and made a humiliating sound when there was no give whatsoever. “Fight all you want. You’re not going anywhere,” Tom whispered into his throat, licking across one of the marks he’d just made. 

He reached down to grab roughly at Tord’s cock, palming it over his pants. He kept mouthing over the expanse of Tord’s neck, sucking and licking at it, bunting into the fabric of his shirt with his nose a few times before he growled in frustration. He released Tord’s hands and tugged harshly at the waist of his shirt. “Off.”

Tord scrambled to obey, clumsily pulling it off and throwing it carelessly to the side. He laid back down and put his arms where they’d been before, searching for approval in Tom’s face. The malicious smile that met him told him that he’d been looking for exactly that. Tom held down Tord’s wrists once more, now able to bite in earnest at the most sensitive parts of his neck. Tord writhed underneath him, sharp gasps of pain percussing his moans. He was definitely going to be purple and black in the morning, but that seemed so distant.

Tom was grinding on him now, rubbing their dicks together through their pants with a desperation he couldn’t have seen coming. Tord was jerking and whimpering beneath him, small, violent movements that betrayed him no matter how hard he tried to hold them in. With a frustrated growl, Tom pulled away and sat up, leaving Tord wrecked on the floor as he fumbled with his fly. At last he managed to pull it out, earning a surprised, strangled noise from Tord. 

He hadn’t seen Tom’s dick, that one night. He, well, he had kind of been trying not to look at Tom at all, and he was pretty sure that Tom felt about the same. So he wasn’t sure what to expect when it happened. He definitely hadn’t expected to feel… this. All excited and maybe kind of honored in some way? Definitely not salivating over it while Tom stroked himself fully hard, his head thrown back and eyes closed. 

After a moment’s indulgence, he wobbled to his feet, holding his hand out for Tord to do the same. As soon as they were on equal footing, Tom grabbed Tord’s waistband and pulled him in hard, tugging his pants down below his hips quickly. Tord worked them off the rest of the way and kicked them aside, his fists balled up at his sides. He was so vulnerable, so eager. He wasn’t ready when Tom kissed him again.

This time it was violent, passionate. Their lips collided in a war that left him gasping for air, using all of his control not to grind himself against Tom’s pelvis. When Tom finally pulled away, looking just as flushed as Tord felt, he had something more sinister in his expression. He pushed Tord gently backwards, just indicating, and guided him as they walked to the desk chair behind him. 

Tom shoved him into it, holding his shoulders down firmly for a moment. “Don’t move,” he barked and marched over to the dresser. He was back with a length of rope just as quickly as he’d left, grabbing Tord’s arms and forcing them behind the back of the chair. “Does that hurt?” When Tord frantically shook his head, he laughed to himself. “Good. Keep them there.”

Tord was biting his lip as he worked. He desperately wanted to ask when the hell he learned all this, but wasn’t sure if he should. It sort of seemed like the answer was ‘a lot longer ago than you’d expect,’ because he was working with frightening speed connecting Tord’s wrists to one another, then around the plank on the back. A length around each of Tord’s biceps through the corner posts, just for good measure. 

He stood up to view his work and Tord gave a little wrench of his shoulders. Another one, a little harder. He couldn’t move. 

Tom watched with ancient vindication as the reality of it settled across Tord’s face. 

“Now,” he said, lowering himself down. He ran his hands smoothly down Tord’s thighs as he did so, watching him shiver. “We’re going to do this my way. Understood?” 

Tord nodded. He let Tom spread his legs apart, wedging his body between his knees until he had no hope of hiding anything. Tom sat on the floor, his head tantalizingly close to Tord’s cock, his fingers running little whispering strokes up and down his thighs, over his pelvis. Tord’s hips jerked with the effort of trying to keep still, his muscles jumping in starts and stops. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Tom’s face, his stoic, merciless gaze as he worked him up. “Tord,” he finally said quietly, so quietly he almost didn’t hear it over his own heartbeat. “Do you want this?”

“Yes,” Tord moaned. “Please, yes, touch me, please--”

Tom’s hand wrapped around him and he let out a broken cry, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He was leaking so much more than he’d thought and Tom was spreading it, covering him with it to smooth out the strokes. He felt himself washed in the wave of his pleasure, his body seeking more even as he struggled to remain conscious, presentable. There was enough of a tiny shred left of his pride that he couldn’t manage to let go of himself. Even after all he’d already laid bare of himself, after everything he’d shamelessly begged for. The last bastion of his dignity was not watching as Tom jerked him off, whining with his head lolled back.

“Why'd you do it?” 

Tord's eyes snapped open with a start, and inescapably, Tom was still holding him down with his gaze. “What?” 

“You heard me.” He didn't move his hand away, didn't slow it down. “I want to know.” 

Tord suppressed the sound that tried to come out, horror and delight swirling deep inside him without mixing. “Tom, please, not now…” 

“No, right now.” His dark eyes bored holes through Tord, unforgiving. “You're going to tell me.” 

It hit Tord like a cold plunge that this had been Tom's plan all along.

He looked down at him, mouth agape with furtive breaths escaping rhythmically in time with Tom's movement. His mouth was a flat line and his eyebrows hung heavy over his eyes. His free hand rested on Tord’s thigh, his shoulders keeping them propped apart. They had only been this close before when they were on the brink of killing each other. Tord tugged again on the ropes on his arms only to find the effort just as useless as before. “I’m waiting,” Tom said, and Tord squirmed under the scrutiny. 

“It's…” He swallowed, his throat sticky and painful. “I thought I was doing the right thing.” Tom didn't say anything, just raised his eyebrow half an inch, his expression unreadable. He gave Tord an almost imperceptible nod, a gentle ‘keep talking,’ making him groan aloud. The guilt bubbling up through the pit of his stomach was making him feel sick, only held back by the constant presence of Tom's ministrations keeping him grounded. “Tom, please, it's just… it's complicated.” 

“I'm sure it's not.” Tom's deadpan voice left no room for argument. The flame of Tord's ego whipped up abruptly in that way that only Tom ever seemed to be able to make it do. He clamped his mouth shut before something he didn't actually mean could tumble out. 

Tom's hand on his cock slowed, agonizing teases replacing the previously heady pace. “Tord,” he snapped, causing him to grind out a strangled moan. “Tell me.” 

“I just wanted to change the world,” Tord hissed through gritted teeth. He scrabbled for purchase against the chair beneath him, struggling up into Tom’s hand beyond his own control. “Nobody thinks they’re a villain, Tom. I thought I could fix things and I was wrong. Are you happy?”

Suddenly Tom started jerking him off faster, earning a loud cry that Tord completely failed to stifle. “No,” Tom said. “I’m not. Do you really expect me to believe that?” It was starting to hurt a bit where Tom’s fist collided with Tord’s pelvis every time he hit the bottom of his shaft, but Tord found himself chasing that pleasure nonetheless. The mingling sensations were starting to make his brain fuzzy.

“You have to understand,” Tord gasped out, struggling with the words. “I thought I was right. I know I wasn't now, but I thought--”

“What?” Tom punctuated the interruption with a firmer grasp of his dick, still jerking it bruisingly. His eyebrows knitted downwards as he continued boring holes into Tord with his eyes. “You thought what? That taking over the world was the only answer?!”

“Yes!” Tord cried. His hips stuttered abruptly, his chest burning where the rope squeezed tightly against his straining muscles. “This was never what I wanted! I just- I just--”

All at once Tom released Tord’s cock, tossing it down like it disgusted him as he got to his feet. Tord whined, stupid little noises that he couldn’t stop, hating himself for it. He thrust up into the air, struggling against his binds. “No, no, please, Tom, I was gonna--”

“I know.” Tom’s voice was darker than it had been. It sent a flutter through Tord’s heart, briefly registering with the part of his brain that was still trying to feel ashamed but ultimately returning. “But I’m not done with you yet.” Tom disappeared behind him and the tension across his chest began to loose, falling away softly when the knots had been undone. His arms, however, were still tucked securely away, no less helpless than he’d been before. Tom grasped Tord by the bicep, firm and ungentle. “Get up.”

Tord wobbled to his feet as quickly as he could only to be thrown down facefirst onto Tom’s bed. He didn’t have time to say anything before Tom was grabbing him by the hips and lifting the lower half of his body up, positioning him on his knees.

“Tom,” Tord panted, struggling to turn his face to see anything past the bedding. “What are you doing?”

Tom paused only for a brief moment to shoot him a look before resuming his task of rearranging Tord’s limbs to his liking. “I’m getting ready to fuck you.” 

“What--” Tord’s heart hammered inside his head. He tried to laugh, but all that came out was a sharp bark of breath. “You can’t-- I don’t do that.”

“Well, you will today.” A plastic lid popped open with a distinctive snap. “You want to make it up to me, don’t you?”

Tord’s dick bobbed in response, and he hated it. He hated that he loved it.

“Don’t worry,” Tom said. His voice was… almost soothing. Like he’d come down from what they had done just long enough to convince him. “I’m not going to hurt you. I know what I’m doing.” 

A cold finger made contact with Tord and he violently shivered. “I’ll use my fingers first to get you more used to it, so that when you take my cock, it doesn’t hurt.” When you take my cock. He said with such certainty, such a factual confidence. “And I’m doing that now, by the way.”

“Don’t you fucking dare--”

All at once Tom was fucking him open. 

He let out a long cry, harsh and grating in his throat. The invasion was not unexpected, not unpermitted, but even lubricated, it was new and foreign and had alarm bells going off in his head. His hands flexed hard, white knuckles against his binds. “It’s okay,” Tom said, somewhere between soothing and condescending. “You can do it.” He pressed gently against a different little spot of Tord each time, watching his reaction with rapt attention. It was… actually starting to feel good, in a way. Tom seemed to find the spot that he wanted, pushing it over and over until Tord was panting and his eyes couldn’t seem to focus. 

“Imagine if they knew,” he mused, the words cutting through Tord’s hazy mind without any connection at first. “If they could see their leader on his knees and taking it for me.” He tugged on the ropes holding Tord’s arms demonstratively. Just because he could. “Entirely helpless.”

Their leader, entirely helpless. Helpless. 

Years ago, in what felt like a different lifetime, Tord had been kidnapped.

It didn’t last long, of course. The Red Leader’s disappearance was noticed within the hour, and the effort to find where he’d been taken took only a little more than double that. They sent forces as soon as they were certain and practically had everybody home in time for dinner. He made a speech later that evening, thanking the team who’d saved him for their diligence and tact. He reassured the troops that while he was certain such threats on his life would not be uncommon, he would never allow it to hinder their progress.

Paul and Patryck walked him back to his room afterwards in silence. He was trembling. They looked at each other. Something passed between them.

“To-- um-- Leader?”

Tord looked up from his desk, softened when he recognized the face in front of it. “Oh. Thank you.” He took the mug out of his hand, swallowed a scalding mouthful. It tasted like shit. They had run out of sugar weeks ago and now the only coffee they could get their hands on was whatever instant stuff came cheap, but it was a hell of a lot better than nothing. 

“Are you doing okay?” Patryck asked, in a voice like he kind of already knew the answer.

Tord waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, I’m fine. I just need to focus on this.”

Nervously, Patryck stepped a little closer. “Are you sure? Because--”

“Patryck,” Tord interrupted, a lighthearted admonishment in his tone. “I said I need to focus. Did you hear that part?”

“Wow.” Patryck folded his arms, smirking back at him. “You know, for someone who claims to be serious about taking over the world, you’re still pretty childish.”

Tord gave him the glare he’d been waiting for, the bags under his eyes made all the deeper by the unyielding fluorescent light on the desk. “I am not taking over the world,” he droned sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “I’m just… holding onto it for a little while.”

“Uh huh. Sure.” Patryck walked over to scan the blueprint Tord was working on, pursing his lips at it. “Wow.” He said at last. “I have. No idea what you’re doing.”

A surprised laugh came from Tord. “Yes, well,” he chuckled. “So long as one of us knows, right?”

“Are you really okay, though?”

Tord frowned at something on the page. “Yes.” He scratched out a few lines. “Why do you keep asking me?”

“It’s just that…” Patryck swallowed. “You just pour yourself into work like this when you’re upset about something, or nervous, is all.”

Tord tapped the butt of his pen on the paper and did not look at him. “That’s my job.”

“Tord.”

“Leader,” Tord corrected.

“No, Tord, I’m talking to you.” 

Patryck’s pulse was violent against his throat, in the palms of his hands. He knew he could be fired, or worse, for having the audacity to speak that way. He could already hear the diatribe about respect and insubordination even if they were friends, otherwise what was all of this for, was just waiting with bated breath for the wrath to unfurl. Tord was stock still, gripping his pen with white knuckles. His shoulders were high and tight. It was the first time Patryck had seen him draped in his uniform with all its authority and dominance looking so small. 

A tear landed softly on the paper beneath him. 

Tord’s mouth was wide open, unrestrained noises spilling out alongside the occasional cry for mercy. “Please, it’s too much…” 

“It’s not so bad,” Tom purred, resting his free hand on Tord’s calf. “You can do it.”

“I don’t--” Tord gulped down air, felt like he couldn’t breathe. “I can’t, I don’t think I can..”

Tom petted gently up and down Tord’s leg. “Keep trying? Just a little more, for me?”

A disgusting curl of arousal traveled down Tord’s spine and he slumped his shoulders in defeat, scraping breaths going in and out too fast. “Try to relax,” Tom murmured to him, drawing himself closer until his shoulder was almost underneath Tord’s hip, bearing his weight. “Stop tensing so much and just feel.” He slowly worked his finger in and out, keeping the pressure on him gentle.

After a terse silence, Tord exhaled deeply and some of the firmness in his back melted away. He was whimpering a soft plea, his eyes tightly screwed shut, but to his credit, he was relaxing and he was taking it. Tom reached up to Tord’s cock, giving it a few lazy strokes, and smiled at the responding shudder. 

“It’s nice, right?” Tom worked both his hands slowly into an accompanying rhythm. The more he touched him, the more he used his ass, the more Tord slowly unwound, his moans becoming heavier, longer. “I’m going to do two fingers now. Okay?”

Tord, in spite of himself, nodded softly. He fought every muscle in his body begging to constrict, held himself loose and pliable and breathed evenly. Tom’s finger pulled back one more time and on the next breath, a pressure double the size broke through his hole carefully. His hands flexed, desperate for something to grab and settling for clawing urgently at his own ass, but he breathed. He inhaled and exhaled and he stayed down. Something swelled in Tom’s chest as he watched. “Good job,” he said. “You’re doing great.”

He continued to fuck Tord with slow, distracting strokes of his cock keeping him grounded. Watching the pattern of his breathing becoming normal, then twisting his fingers just right to see it be ruined all over again. “Tom, please,” Tord whined. “I need… I can’t…”

“Aw, what is it?” Tom purred in mock sympathy. “You need to tell me something?”

Tord keened against Tom’s touch, silent except for his shaky breaths and little whimpers. “Let me guess.” He pulled his fingers out of Tord’s ass, spanking him hard as he left just to hear the cry of pain, before he clambered up onto his knees, legs on either side of Tord’s. “You want me to stop teasing you and fuck you myself like the desperate slut you are. Is that right?”

Tord heard the lube popping open again, could faintly hear the sound of it as Tom covered himself. He couldn’t find the words, couldn’t seem to string a logical answer together, just screwed his neck around trying unsuccessfully to see him. Something cold and bigger than before prodded at his ass and he gasped. “I’m gonna need an answer,” Tom growled. 

“Y-yes,” Tord blurted out, his cheeks burning. “I, I do, just please…”

Tom smirked down at him. “That’s what I thought.”

His ass was stretched open, slowly, so slowly becoming full. He cried out, his cheek shoved hard against the mattress, every beat of his heart thudding into the wound there. But the longer Tom stayed there, the more he pulled in and out tenderly, so much more tenderly than he deserved, the more he felt himself losing to the pleasure of it. He forced himself to breathe. He forced his shoulders to slump down. He sat there and he took it well and he felt good.

Continuing to rut into him gently, Tom leaned down over his body, wrapping both arms underneath Tord’s stomach to hold him up higher. He pressed his forehead between Tord’s shoulderblades and groaned into him. “Fuck. Yes.” He was shaking with need. But still he kept a steady, slow pace, rocking against the same spot with a gentleness that would have been endearing to anyone else. “You really had us all fooled, you know.”

Tord couldn’t speak, was so tangled in pleasure and discomfort and remorse. His mouth was open and his breath was hot on his cheek and he wanted to scream. 

“You almost fucking killed me,” Tom spit like the words were poison in his mouth. “Was that a part of your mission to save the world, too?” He was grinding deeper, moving faster. “Or was this army of yours just a personal tool for your fun?”

“It isn’t like that,” Tord whined. “I thought I had to get you out of the way for this to work. I was wrong, so wrong and I’m so sorry--”

Tom fucked him harder, relishing in the way that he wailed into the bed. “Say it again.”

“I’m sorry!” Tord’s muffled voice cried. “I’m sorry, I deserve whatever you do to me, I could never make it up to you--”

“We could try,” Tom snarled into his back. He was starting to fuck him faster, to punch into him with his hips harder. “You wanna let me fuck you like this every day? Let me throw you around and use you for whatever I want?” His breathing was becoming ragged, his words less connected. “I think that sounds like a great place to start.”

Tord looked like he was made of glass, like at any moment he might shatter, his eyes unfocused. “Yes,” he moaned. “You can use me, it’s all I deserve…” 

Tom reached with one hand to jerk Tord off again, and the languid cry that resulted was completely unbridled, Tord’s eyes squeezing tightly shut with the sensation. He was starting to tense up again, his back rigid and occasionally spasming. “Tord,” Tom snapped. “You’re not relaxing. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know that I can stay like this,” Tord wheezed out. “It hurts…”

“Let’s try this, then.” Tom pulled out, guiding Tord’s hips lower and lower until he was flat on the bed. He undid the ropes at his wrists, rubbing over the indents as he did so, and letting him squeeze the feeling back into his shoulders, letting the blood rush back into his hands. He put his hands on Tord’s hips and lifted up slightly, turning him over and letting him follow the motion with his torso until he was lying on his back instead. Tord was whimpering, turning purple, and he looked about ready to burst. He opened his eyes and--

Oh. 

Tom had one hand possessively on his hip and the other wrapped around his own cock, lining it up to fuck into Tord again. He was bent over him on his knees, Tord’s legs on either side of his torso, with his eyebrows knitted in concentration and a light sheer of sweat making him gleam in the low light. Tord’s eyes trailed down his neck, his chest, his stomach. His toned arms, his gorgeous hands. Since when did he have gorgeous hands?

He tilted his head just slightly to look up at Tord, an unspoken question in his gaze. So gentle and all at once so evil. He was devastating.

“Tom,” Tord moaned, and that was all it took for Tom to start fucking back into him with the tenderness of mere moments ago nowhere in sight. He gripped Tord’s hips bruisingly, groaning out his own pleasure as Tord fell apart all over again. Tord was lifting up to meet his thrusts, his mouth wide open and every noise spilling out, completely limp on the bed. He had no control of himself, was just following the cues of his body without a second thought. Tom couldn’t help but smile. Finally. 

Tord reached limply for his own cock, stroking it in time with the rhythm of Tom’s movement. His hole tensed around Tom a few times before he managed to speak. “Please,” he whispered. “I need to cum, Tom, please…”

“Then do it.” Tom pounded into him harder, his own pleasure not too far off. “I want to watch you.”

It wasn’t long before Tord was jerking his hips up against Tom’s in violent, cut-off spasms, crying out his name as he came all over both of them. He clenched up around Tom, dragging a low sound out of him, bringing him closer and closer. His face was bright and exposed, so lost in himself. Such a departure from his facade. Such a good boy, even though he’d insisted he couldn’t be. Watching the face of his rival, watching him in the position he’d wanted to see him in for so long, Tom was cumming. 

Tord was faintly aware of their bodies where they touched, sticky with sweat. He distantly recognized Tom pulling out and moments later wiping him with a towel gingerly, like he thought he might hurt him. He came back to himself a little more when Tom sat down again on the bed next to him, so softly, brushing his bangs out of his eyes where they had stuck.

“Are you okay?” Tom’s voice was still hoarse, but the malice there had evaporated completely away.

Tord sucked in shuddering breaths slowly, again and again. “Yeah. I’m good.” After a few more, he opened his eyes to see Tom leaning over him with a slightly furrowed brow. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just--” Tom held his hand up like he wanted to touch him, but couldn’t. “Your face…”

The afterglow was starting to fade and Tord was becoming more and more aware of how sore and swollen his cheek was starting to feel. “Is it bad?”

“Um,” Tom said unconvincingly and then failed to say anything else.

Tord rolled his eyes, a mischievous smile coming over him. “I’m sure it’s fine. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time the boys had seen us like this, right?” He stood up, stretching his sore legs as he went.

“I’m.” Tom rose to his feet as well, closed his mouth, opened it, closed it again. “I’m gonna get the first aid kit.” He stumbled to the door faster than he probably meant to, fumbling with the knob. “It might not be serious, but it’s better safe than--”

Edd and Matt’s faces stared back at him. 

They all gawked in wide-eyed silence at each other, frozen solid, for a few moments that stretched for eternity. “It was Edd’s idea!” Matt cried, sprinting down the hallway and away from the danger. Tom fixed an unamused look on Edd, who could only smile sheepishly in response.

“So, er.” Edd jammed his hands in his pocket, averting his gaze far too late. “It sounds like the four of us need to have a talk?”

Tom let out a deep sigh. “Yeah. I suppose we do.”

“Edd?” Tord leaned out enough to see around Tom’s shoulder, smiling toothily. “Are… are you hard right now?”

Edd squeaked and yanked his hoodie down. “I- no!” He turned bright red and walked off stiffly, calling over his shoulder, “And even if I was - which I am not, by the way! - it would definitely be the fault of my stupid sexy roommates for fucking so loud!”

“Aw, babe. You think I’m sexy?”

“In the morning. Going to bed now. Talk later.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause you could come ogle us some more if you wanted--”

“Goodnight, Tom.”