Maximuspaddington
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Summary
But, then came that expression that Tom unfortunately knew too well; that subtle, razor-sharp smirk that could cut class.
“Didn’t figure you for the brooding type, Thomas.”
The use of his full name was deliberate. A small provocation wrapped in silk. Tom’s name sounded different in Tord’s accent.
Tord didn’t wait for permission. Didn’t wait for an invitation. He never did. Not in all the years that Tom had known him. He stepped out from the dim hallway, and into the living room’s amber glow, moving with that particular brand of confidence that existed somewhere between arrogance and simple certainty. It wasn’t this aggressive swagger. More like, fluid grace, like someone who had already proven everything they needed to prove.
He walked slowly. Deliberately. Like someone testing the temperature of water they were about to dive into. His drink swayed loosely in one hand, clearly unimportant, a prop that served no purpose beyond giving his fingers something to do. What mattered was the way his attention focused on Tom like a laser, unwavering and intent.
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After a party, Tom and Tord's feelings for each other come to a head.