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It starts in a toy shop.
One he and Tord visit regularly, sometimes for fun, sometimes when they actually need something. It’s quite big, with lots of options for anyone interested in shopping. It has a toy section, tape section, and costume section.
This time is just for fun, they find the magazine and costume section particularly entertaining. Here, Tom is truly marveled at how “creative” people can be with their sexual fantasies.
“Oh- look at this,” Tord says, tugging on his hoodie and holding up a magazine titled Top 50 Fantasies, which is a semi-informational magazine with rankings and graphic examples of each.
Curious, Tom takes it from the other and examines the cover. Judging from the man and woman…enthralled with each other, it’s a straight magazine.
Tord looks over his shoulder with similar curiosity, And points to the first page, “Go to the top five, I want to see what they are.”
Tom reads the index for the page numbers, flipping all the way to the back and starting at #5.
First up: lesbians. Which is unsurprising. There are multiple, helpful pictures for people into that sort of thing. The most interesting part of the pictures are the impressive ways the women bend themselves, but that’s about it for Tom.
“Any thoughts?” He says, turning his eyes to Tord beside him.
“Uh,” Tord fumbles, turning the page for Tom in place of an answer, “No.”
Tom puts a pin in that reaction and moves on to #4. The French Maid.
The picture is of a woman in a compromising position, wearing the frilly dress, with a few cliché accessories like a feather duster and garters.
“Okay, I really don’t get this one so you’re going to have to explain it to me,” Tom says to Tord, on the verge of laughing.
“Really?” Tord replies, like it’s surprising. “It’s all about the submission part. You have someone, completely at your mercy, ready to do whatever you say in a skimpy outfit.”
Tom processes the explanation, feeling more warm to the idea. He looks back down to the magazine, trying to replace the woman with a man in his imagination. It makes the idea sound much more appealing.
Then, he glances at his partner, imagining him in that position for a moment, and suddenly, there are all of these intense feelings. It hits Tom all at once, causing a weird mix of arousal and confusion.
“Whatever, it’s dumb.” He says, flipping to #3 and trying not to show how much this is affecting him.
Thankfully, Tord shrugs, more distracted by the schoolgirl on the next page if anything.
Tom tries to forget about it.
-
He really, really tries to forget about it.
But he can’t.
He’s been thinking about it ever since they left the store and came home. Now, every single thing Tord does brings it back to his mind.
Especially acts of service. Which is why, when Tord offers to cook dinner, Tom’s face bursts into flames. Watching him set the table, and set Tom’s plate in front of him with a kiss to the cheek does not help at all.
“I love you,” He says while they have dinner, secretly apologizing for perverting their meal without outwardly saying it.
“I love you too?” Tord replies after swallowing, confused by the random declaration. Little does he know, Tom has been mentally objectifying him since he started cooking.
“I’ll get the dishes after this,” He tacks on, trying to make up for the massive guilt he’s feeling about his fantasy.
“I know.” Tord says matter-of-factly, with an obnoxious smile that reminds Tom why he’s head over heels for this man.
He continues to try to forget about it.
-
It doesn’t work. Again.
Now it’s time for bed, and things only get worse. They shower together, like they often do at night, and Tord offers to wash his hair.
Initially, Tom’s stomach twists at the idea. Then he realizes it would move Tord’s naked body out of his sight, and keep him from pinning the other against the wall. So Tom says yes. Bonus, it feels nice.
After they’re both clean and ready to go to sleep, they get turn out the lights and get into bed.
Again, in another fit of luck, Tord is too tired to mess around, and gives Tom a kiss before rolling over. He silently thanks whoever is up there for it.
Just to be safe, he avoids cuddling the other, lest he get too excited. They don’t cuddle every single night anyway, so no harm, no foul. It’s a pain in the ass to fall asleep, but eventually, he does.
-
Tom is in the living room of their apartment.
He knows this because it has their couch, and tv, and movie posters. Only, he doesn’t know how he got there. And why the sun is up.
It’s eerily quiet, and…something is off. He’s about to get up and investigate when Tord enters from the hall.
Tord, who is wearing a maid costume.
Tom’s heart triples its pace. There are a million questions racing through his head. How did he find out? Where did he get that? Why is he looking at him like that? Why does he look so good?
“Tord?” Tom wills himself to speak despite the utter mess he is becoming. It’s suddenly very, very hot. He rubs his palms against his jeans, trying to keep his cool despite the blood rushing to his face- and other places.
“ Bonsoir! ” Tord replies with a sweet smile. Tom’s brain short-circuits, and that one word goes straight to his dick.
What the fuck? Tom thinks, completely spiraling as his boyfriend moves more into the living room, ergo more into Tom’s view. His eyes can’t help but wander.
It’s arguably the most conservative maid dress he’s ever seen. It buttons up to a neck-length white-collar, adorned with a black bow tie, and cascades down his shoulders into full sleeves. Then, the black fabric travels down his chest until it nips inward with a white apron, finally fanning out with a black, frilled skirt. The most scandalous part of the dress is its length. It barely comes down mid-thigh, with the frills adding an extra inch of dignity.
“ Quel est le problème, monsieur? ” Tom has no idea what the hell he is saying, but it sure does sound good. He does know one word, monsieur , which means like mister or something. Tord moves closer, standing directly in front of Tom like he wants to be ogled.
Fuck. That really isn’t helping.
He continues his journey down Tord’s attire. He starts back from the top again, sweeping down slowly, until his eyes widen as they land on Tord’s legs. Thin, white fabric that comes up just above his knees and covers his bare feet. Or as Tord likes to call them, “thigh highs”. Tom is probably going to faint at this point.
They cling to his skin in a way that's bordering on pinching, showing off every curve and muscle in his calves and thighs. Making Tom’s hands twitch with the urge to reach out and run his fingers along the fabric.
He realizes that he’s digging his fingers into the couch now. Once Tord seems satisfied that he’s gotten a full look at his costume, he turns around and saunters away.
Tom watches, of course, noticing with a stab of arousal that the back of the socks have tiny bows on the hem that bounce when he walks. He understands now, that he’s died and gone to heaven.
He just sits there, and watches. Tord is by the tv now, back still facing Tom so that when he leans over to dust it, his eyes are drawn immediately to his ass. Wait, where did that feather duster come from?
The dress is short, but not short enough. Nothing is exposed, yet, even when Tord bends over. Just more of his bare thighs, which are still making Tom’s mouth water, but it’s torture.
Tom aches even more when his boyfriend props one of his knees up on the tv stand, the stretch causing more of the fabric to ride up and expose more skin. He manages to get just the subtlest glimpse of his backside, and suddenly his throat dries.
Is he…not wearing underwear?
“ Suis-je bon, monsieur? ” Tord says in his silky accent, making Tom feel weak. He’s fixing him with a heady stare that’s making Tom want to march over there and grab him.
Suddenly he stands up, after realizing there really isn’t anything stopping him, and says, “Come here.”
He’s trying to be assertive and sexy, but his voice wavers when Tord struts over to him. He stands there, looking up at Tom, “ Oui, monsieur? ”
That’s it, he can’t hold back anymore. His hands shoot out to grab Tord by the waist, eliciting a startled giggle from the other. At first, he just pulls them close together, reveling in the soft fabric under his hands. Then his eyes land on the frills, desperately wanting to see what’s underneath.
“ Que faites - !” Tord’s words die on his tongue as he’s bent over a nearby armchair with less than forgiving hands. He squirms momentarily, then goes stock still as Tom lifts the back of the dress up.
Holy fuck. Tom was totally right. Underneath the frills and fabric, Tord is completely naked. He’s reminded of how painfully hard he is in that moment, watching Tord look over his shoulder with an embarrassment that hits Tom right in the gut.
“Monsieur? ” He asks, sounding sheepish and adorable in a way that Tom has never seen him.
The innocence he’s putting on right now is really working for Tom. He wants to see more. His fingers trace the fabric of Tord’s socks, gently, before snapping it against his skin. Tord flinches and tries to close his legs, then whimpers when Tom forces them back open.
“I didn’t say you could do that,” Tom says, feeling a new hunger wash over him. Tord gives him a small nod in understanding, and says, “ Je suis désolé. ”
Tom’s fingers continue tracing up his thighs, stopping for a moment to squeeze his ass. Tord seems to like that. He keeps going, having to hold Tord down when his fingers tease his entrance.
Curious, he applies minimal pressure and- it slips in.
Tord bites his lip, trying to hold back a noise. Tom just stares, a little taken aback. “How…?” He mumbles to himself, a little confused, and then outright shocked when he’s able to fit two more in with ease.
Tord can’t hold back anymore. He squeezes around the intrusion, letting out a low moan when Tom pushes them even deeper. A little less concerned with the logistics, Tom gets his attention drawn back to the task at hand when Tord starts panting lightly.
The sound of Tom’s fly being pulled down catches his attention, and his face flushes a deep red.
Tom lets out a sigh when his boxers come down, feeling less strained. He pauses for a moment, then decides to say fuck it and try, just to see what happens.
His hands grip Tord’s hips tightly, and tug him backward so he’s pressed against his entrance. The other squeaks, then outright whines when Tom starts pushing in- and doesn’t feel any resistance.
Tom bottoms out in his boyfriend, as confused as he feels good right now. He manages to fit completely in with one thrust. They both exhale together, with Tord’s nails scraping against the side of the armrest.
He’s tight. Every time he moves or readjusts, his insides ripple around Tom in a way that’s making it hard to stay still right now.
Tom tugs him backwards again when he scrambles forward, apparently hard, because Tord lets out a keen and clamps down around Tom so tightly that he curses. Unable to help himself- he bucks forward, both of them letting out simultaneous moans.
He decides to just go for it. His hands tighten their grip on Tord’s hips, press him into the armrest, and Tom starts fucking him. Hard.
It’s fucking amazing. Tord feels good, nice and tight, and he’s making an array of noises that are pressing all the right buttons for Tom.
“ Fuck ,” Tom moans, enjoying the way the frills bounce and brush against his skin with each thrust. The dress drapes across Tord’s back in one particularly hard thrust, and Tom gets a nice view of his cock disappearing into him.
Tord falls forward with a whimper, cheek first into the cushion of the armchair, laying pliant with his thighs spread and letting Tom take what he wants like a good boy. From what Tom can see, his eyes flutter close and his face twists up adorably.
The sight is doing all sorts of things to Tom- mainly causing him to fuck him harder.
The other flinches each time, the sound of Tom’s thrusts causing his face to turn completely red. Entranced, Tom leans over his back to get a closer look, not letting up on his eager thrusting.
“Who's my good boy?” Tom asks, praying that Tord will answer.
“ M-Moi,” He sounds so beautiful.
“S-Say it,” Tom demands, starting to unravel himself. He’s close, and Tord’s pitched French might just do it for him.
“ Je suis- “ His voice wavers, sounding desperate, “ J-Je suis ton bon garçon. ” It’s shaky and almost a whine.
That does it. Tom cums immediately after, burying himself deep inside Tord with a groan. His hands squeeze Tord’s hips as he rides out his orgasm, convinced that he is officially in heaven.
Until he wakes up.
He wakes up, panting and heart thudding rapidly in his chest. It’s also unbearably warm underneath his covers. His mind trudges to catch up, confused by the sudden change in environment.
Oh, he thinks, sighing aloud. It was a dream. That explains all of his unanswered questions.
He realizes something else, too. There’s a sticky, disgusting feeling in his boxers that makes him groan. Great.
The weight beside him shifts momentarily, causing Tom to freeze. He forgot there was someone beside him, sleeping. Carefully and quietly, he sits up, not wanting to disturb Tord. The covers are peeled back slowly, until he can slip out of bed unnoticed.
He manages to make it to the bathroom with no sign that Tord woke up from his creeping around. Thankful, he sits on the toilet and stares down at his boxers and cringes. Above all?
He’ll continue to try forgetting about it.