Work Text:
A notification dings from Tom’s phone.
“we can meet in around 15 minutes at the back of XXXX, is that cool?” A smile lights up his face. He’s been waiting impatiently for this message, tapping his foot by his desk and staring off into the void of the sky, which seems to be lightly sprinkled with tiny white stars. A friend of a friend recommended this guy after Tom had complained to him about his previous dealer having shitty deals. Apparently, ‘Russett’ had one of the best supplies in his area, and Tom felt it was a nice opportunity to check it out. He hesitated for a bit but ended up sending a message back.
“Sure, I’ll see you there.” Before he’s able to put down his phone and start getting ready to meet his new dealer, his phone dings again.
“oh btw im wearing a grey tank :)” And below, he attaches an image of what is supposedly Russett’s upper body, with the grey tank top as he described in his text message along with dark blue jeans paired with a brown belt peeking in at the bottom of the image. Russett had a toned, square-like build, his skin a warm beige with a few brown beauty marks sprinkled along his arms, just like the stars of the night sky. Confused by this text but also a little bit intrigued, Tom inspected the photo, wanting to see more.
“Okay? What do you want me to do with this?” He texts hastily, however after that he did not spare one second saving the photo. But much to Tom’s demise, this app he hadn’t used prior apparently sends a notification in the chat if one saves another's photo to their device. He turned off his phone in utter shock and embarrassment, trying to ignore the notifications vibrating in his hand as he buried his face in the other.
When the notifications stopped, he gathered all of his embarrassment and peeked at the text messages.
“i just want u to be able to find me”
“but im glad u enjoyed the photo :)”
“why dont u send one back?”
“equal transaciton”
“transaction*”
“please?”
The nerve of this guy. He probably thinks I’m just some chick who’d fall for any buff dude, that’s probably why he's so buff in the first place. Tom's inner monologue rambled on in pure irritation by Russett's smug demeanor. He thought for a while before sending another message.
“You’ll see me when we meet.” He sent, setting down his phone and rushedly putting on a black jumper, then going to the front door to put on his shoes. His phone dinged a few more times but he didn’t bother checking them and set off to the location they agreed upon.
—
He arrived at the address Russett sent him. It appeared to be the back of an abandoned warehouse that's been doused in graffiti over the years, which had a very conveniently placed bench a few centimeters away, facing a large field of uneven grass and yellow dandelions. He sat down on the bench, leaning his back on the armrest, planning to light a cig before Russett arrives to calm his nerves. He took a long drag, only then did he decide to check his messages again.
“not fair”
“u saved my photo”
“that means i get one of you too”
“dont be a hypocrite”
However much his annoyance with Russett's childish and teasing behavior bothered him, it was overshadowed by Tom's deep repulsion at the thought of being a hypocrite. He took a photo of his upper body holding his fag with his other hand, making sure to not have his face visible, just like Russett did, and sent it before he could regret it. Instantly, he got another text message, followed by a notification in the chat similar to the one before.
“can i have a taste?” Despite disliking him, a faint smile appeared on Tom’s face as he thought of a response. The flirting worked.
“Of me or the cigarette?” He sent, instantly being flushed with embarrassment and regret. What is he getting himself roped into?! As he beat himself up over flirting with his dealer, he got another message.
“why not both? ;)” Tom grimaces and turns off his screen, taking another drag of his cigarette. This guy cannot be real. Who uses the winking emoticon?? He looks off into the distance to take his mind off of his overthinking, admiring the view of the night sky.
“Tomas..?” A familiar voice muttered from behind him. He raised his eyebrow, believing he never told Russett his real name, before turning his head and seeing…
“TORD?! What the hell are YOU doing here?” Tom exclaimed, jumping from the comfortable position he was once in, his limbs feeling wobbly. Tord seemed to be just as surprised to be seeing him, his eyes wide open in shock, which is when Tom realized that he was wearing the exact same grey tank top and blue jeans as Russett was in that photo. He’s definitely more toned than he remembered him, but how did he not realize?! ‘Russett’ texts the exact same way as Tord did! And not to mention the photo..
“No, no,” he shook his head dramatically, before pointing at Tom, “What are YOU doing here?” He gave him a sly leer, as Tom merely furrowed his eyebrows in response. “You know drugs are bad.” Despite the shock of seeing his ex so suddenly, he was already teasing him. Of course.
“Whatever man, let’s just get this over with.” Tom was way too exhausted to start an argument, so he simply reached into his pocket, digging for cash, but Tord hurriedly stopped him.
“Wait, how about we make a deal? I can give you the stuff for free, as long as you do one thing for me in return.” He smirked. Tom knew that smirk didn't mean anything well.
“What thing in return?” He took another drag and handed it to Tord, sensing his glare on the cigarette.
“Thank you– I just need somewhere to sleep, one night.” He gestured with his finger, followed with a thick smoke blown into Tom's face.
“Hell no,” He wafted his hands in the air, “I’m not letting you in my house.” He reached for his cigarette back, but Tord pulled it out of his reach with a sly smirk.
“Please?” He pleaded, his hands in a praying motion. Tom furrowed his eyebrows. “There’s that furrow.” He teased, as Tom looked at him, puzzled. Tord knew he always furrowed his eyebrows whenever he's flustered. He disregarded that comment, snatching his cigarette back and taking a long puff.
“Fine.” He exhaled, making sure to blow the smoke right at Tord’s face, “But no one, and I mean no one, can know you were there.” He stubbed out his cigarette just below Tord’s collarbone among his healed burns in a grinding motion, much to Tord’s delight, then turning around to walk home with the other following along shortly behind.
—
Tom makes a hushing motion towards Tord, reminding him to not make himself known, unlocking the door and walking towards his room. He puts down his phone on his bed, playing a familiar, melancholic song on low volume and goes to his desk to empty out some cigs from their tobacco, tapping them into an empty ash tray.
“I remember this song,” His Norwegian accent slipping through on the /th/ sound. Tom turned around to see him sitting on his bed looking back at him, “You used to play this when we smoked together, right?” He nodded in response and went back to what he was doing, in which Tord could sense the passive-aggressiveness. He stood up, walking over to Tom and putting his hands on his shoulders. “C’mon man, loosen up! This is just like old times!” Tom hushed him, putting his finger on his lips.
“They’re sleeping. Remember?” He whispered, reminding him of the time. “And don’t think of this as some kind of hang out. We are not friends.” He frowned, dejectedly going back to sit on Tom’s bed, before suddenly stopping in his tracks and his eyes lit up once again.
“But, Tomas.. don’t you want the weed?” He remarked slyly, right into Tom’s ear, in a much noticeably lower voice but not quite of a whisper. “Keep up this attitude and you won’t get shit.” He waved the baggie around in front of him. Tord only got a furrowed eyebrow in reply, implying that his intimidation tactic had worked. “Good.” He dropped the bag on the desk, prompting Tom to open it up and put the marijuana in his grinder. He rested his head on top of Tom’s, gazing on half-lidded as he prepared the joint.
He lightly wrapped his arms around the other out of instinct, listening along to the song he once knew well. He still remembered every lyric. “Tired?” Tord nodded. The rustle of the paper rolling wasn’t helping. “You can go to sleep if you want,” He spoke softly, “I’ll take the floor.” He just shook his head in return.
The flicker from the other’s lighter quickly woke him up. “You’re gonna smoke at this hour?”
“Yes, I am. What about it?” He said with a slight smirk on his face, taking quick, small puffs shortly after to test the air flow. “Are you gonna lecture me about drug safety?” He stood up to open the window, then turned around to sit on the floor, using his bed as a backrest. He took a long puff, holding it in for three seconds then exhaling it into a cloud of smoke.
“What did I just say about attitude?” A grin appeared on his face, arms folded. “You’re gonna have to give me a taste for that.” He sat down next to Tom, holding his hand out, expecting something in return.
“Nope.” He said, flatly, taking another puff, feeling it burn down his throat. Tord glared at him astounded, wide-eyed, as if he just hatecrimed him. “You won’t get shit.” Smoke poured from his mouth as he talked, as if it were venom. He liked Tord’s reaction. He liked watching him lose his power over him. But his joy wasn’t long lived. Tord reached over, trying to snatch it from his hands, making Tom push him away. “The hell are you doing, dude?!” He hissed, trying to keep his voice down, “It’s my choice to give you some or not, I’m already doing you this favor–” Tord frowned. “Stop acting so damn entitled, man!!” Glaring at Tord, who was now sitting farther away from him, he took another puff. Tord’s posture stiffens as he attempts to say something in retaliation but can’t find the words. He stuttered and stammered as Tom just stared at him as if he were nothing, his hands tense up and clutch into a pair of fists. He suddenly punches Tom straight in the face, sending the joint flying away from the two.
“You- You’re a fucking asshole! I shouldn't have come!” He exclaims through gritted teeth, standing up in a haste, as Tom holds his cheek in sheer shock. “You just never fucking change, do you?!”
“I’m an asshole?? You just punched me!” He retorted—forgetting the rule he set about quietness in a haste—getting on his feet after recovering from the shock of being punched out of nowhere. “In the face!!”
“Well you deserved it.” Tom had enough. He pounced for his neck, strangling him with almost all his might, pushing him against the wall. His fingers curled with intense passion against the other's neck, causing him to sputter. He instinctively tries to fight back, kicking and twisting his body away from Tom's, but it was futile. A half-lidded grin appears on Tord's now pale face as he stares holes into Tom’s eyes, his firm grip on Tom’s forearms loosening. The euphoria of his consciousness fading along with the pain of his nails digging into his neck was just like heaven. His grip loosened in reaction, not wanting to cause permanent damage, but still wanting him to hurt. “T– Tomas, du..” He choked out, his throat being sore, “You smell nice..” Tom, in his trance caused by his rage and slightly-high state, did what he thought was the right thing to do in that situation and pressed his lips against Tord’s.
He immediately took his hands off his neck, furrowing his eyebrows, making Tord gasp for air. He backed up, stumbling over his feet, before Tord practically lunged at him onto the bed, their lips colliding with one another once again, with the passion of nearly four years of radio silence and pent up repression of emotions. Four long years. His hand wandered down to Tord’s waist, as the other was tangled in his hair—pulling him even closer, if that's even possible—forbidding either of them have a second to breathe. Tord slipped his tongue between the other’s, causing a muffled moan to escape his lips. Blood dripped down from Tord’s neck onto the other’s, a cold sensation, but it was ignored. The adrenaline rushing through them only makes the pain feel good. The conflict surrounding the joint–or whatever they were fighting about–is all forgotten. This intense, passionate feeling, whether it was hate or love, they didn’t know. All they knew is that they needed more.
“Du er–” Words escaped from his mouth like clockwork, not even realizing they’re in a language the other won't understand, sneaking in another kiss before completing his sentence. “–alt jeg trenger...” He caressed his cheek, the same one he punched mere minutes ago. His eyes flickered out of the blue, as if he's finally thinking clearly. His hand flew to his mouth. “Uh.. I….” Is all he could get out of his mouth, before getting interrupted by Tom.
“Are you okay?”
A long, drawn out silence echoes throughout the room. Tord broke the eye contact they shared sheepishly, gazing instead at the blood that ran down from Tom’s neck onto the blue bedsheets, the contrast of the two colors almost turning the spot where they meet black.
He didn’t know what to say. It was a very logical question to ask–probably the most logical thing he’s said all day–and yet his mouth was zipped tightly shut. His eyes hover back to Tom’s cheek, which has turned a pinkish-red from the impact. He winced at the touch, it was still swollen and tender.
Tears welled up in his eyes. He tried to fight it, clenching his jaw as tight as it would go–he didn’t want to be weak, not in front of Tom–but the urge was all too strong. He took a short breath, “I’m sorry–” collapsing onto Tom, hugging him tightly as he dug his face into his shoulder, as if he's afraid that he’ll leave. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He sobbed uncontrollably, “You deserve so much better than me.” He curled his fingers tightly into him, tears staining his jumper. Tom reluctantly reciprocated the hug. This was all too familiar.
“It’s okay.”