Archive of Our Own

Tom hiccuped, the bitter aftertaste of cheap vodka still clinging to his tongue. He knew he’d passed his limit the moment the rows of liquor bottles—lined from bottom-shelf plastic jugs to overpriced crystal decanters—started bleeding into one another. His vision blurred, the labels indistinct, colors swimming lazily together under the bar’s dim lighting.

He only ever touched the cheap stuff anyway. He couldn’t afford the luxury of something that went down smooth or tasted like fruit instead of fire. The harsher it burned, the cheaper it came—and that was all that mattered tonight.

His face felt hot, flushed from the alcohol, his skin buzzing with that deceptive warmth that always started out feeling kind of nice. It wasn’t a pleasant buzz—he knew better than to pretend it was—but it did the job. For now. He could feel the edges of the world softening, his thoughts beginning to unravel at the seams. He knew it wouldn’t last, and that it’d turn on him soon, but he still had cash in his pocket. So he kept drinking.

Edd was going to be pissed. Tom already knew that. But he didn’t care. Not right now. He needed this.

The last couple of days had been hell. Hell, the last couple of weeks. The old dive he used to play gigs at for extra cash got shut down with no warning, and his main job was teetering on the edge—layoffs were happening fast, and no one knew whose name was on the chopping block. Tom hadn’t gotten a call yet, but the waiting was killing him. That pressure, combined with the endless background noise of his everyday anxieties, plus Tord pissing him off every other minute... it was too much.

He hated that he’d fallen back into this habit. But drinking made everything quieter. It gave him something nothing else could—relief. That foggy, weightless high where everything stopped clawing at him for just a little while. But it was a balancing act. Too much, and he’d black out or throw it all up. Too little, and the calm wouldn’t stick. So he had to hit the sweet spot.

Tom raised a hand for another round. The bartender barely looked up before refilling his glass. He’d strayed from his usual fruity vodka drinks tonight, opting for something sweeter, more nostalgic. Whipped flavor. It wasn’t as good as strawberry—nothing ever was—but it was smooth enough to keep going down easy.

When the next glass slid toward him, Tom wrapped his fingers around it and stared into the clear liquid, trying to pretend he was pacing himself. He swirled it once, twice—just buying time—before tipping it back and draining more than half in a single swallow.

It burned going down. Not in a painful way, exactly—more like the familiar sting of an old routine. His throat was already a little numb from how many drinks he’d had, and this one barely registered. His arm wobbled as he set the glass back on the bar, his eyelids drooping slightly. He could feel the bartender watching him now, probably debating whether it was time to cut him off. Tom didn’t care. He’d just swing by a liquor store on his way home if he had to.

Sure enough, once he drained the last mouthful from his glass, the bartender handed him a water instead. "Last one," the guy muttered, not unkindly. Tom scoffed but didn’t argue. He knew the game. He pulled some crumpled bills from his pocket, tossed them on the counter, and pushed himself to his feet.

The room tilted slightly.

He blinked hard, steadying himself, letting the floaty, distant feeling wash over him. His body felt like it was wrapped in something warm and thick, like a drunk blanket he didn’t mind carrying home. He shoved the bar’s heavy door open with a shoulder and stumbled out into the night, the cool air hitting his flushed skin like a slap and a kiss all at once.

The sidewalk was slick with late-evening condensation, streetlights smearing gold across the pavement. As he shuffled down the street, his house only a block or two away, he passed a liquor store with one flickering neon sign in the window. The red glow danced across the glass and caught his attention. He paused.

Fumbling in his pockets, he came up empty. No more cash. No more drinks.

And he still wasn’t drunk enough.

Sucking his teeth, Tom clumsily peeled the case off his phone, fingers fumbling. A couple crumpled fives were tucked inside—emergency backup cash. Meant for a cab ride home or maybe food if he got stranded. But… oh well.

He stumbled into the liquor store, the familiar fluorescent buzz overhead making his head throb. Without hesitation, he made his way to the back aisle. He already knew what he could get on this sad little budget: nothing decent, but strong enough to do the job. He grabbed a bottle of raspberry Burnett’s, eyeing the label for a moment before taking it to the front.

The cashier gave him a long look—disapproving, maybe skeptical—but didn’t say anything. Tom didn’t meet his eyes. He just shoved the cash across the counter and took the bottle like it was medicine, walking right out.

The moment the cold air hit him, he cracked the bottle open with shaky hands. The harsh, artificial berry scent punched him in the face, making his nose wrinkle. But he was far past caring about taste now. He threw back a few gulps, wincing as the cheap vodka burned its way down. It churned in his stomach, but he didn’t stop.

By the time he reached the house, he was swaying slightly. He reached for the knob—and stopped. Locked. What the fuck?

Tom blinked hard and tapped the screen of his phone. 2:04 a.m. Yikes. He squinted at the lock and patted down his pockets again, rooting for his keys. Jacket. Pants. Shirt. Nothing. Shit. He must’ve left them in his room… at least, he thought so. Honestly, it was hard to remember.

Calling someone was out of the question. No way in hell he was about to drag Edd into this. He could already imagine that look—the disappointed, sad kind that made Tom want to crawl into himself. It would just make the guilt worse.

He groaned and raked a hand through his messy hair. He had a stupid idea. A really, really stupid idea. But it was all he had.

Tucking the bottle awkwardly under his arm, he trudged around the back of the house, eyes settling on his bedroom window on the second floor. Luckily, a ladder was still propped against the side of the roof from earlier in the week—Edd had left it out after fixing a shingle. The window was cracked open, just barely. Tom had insisted on that. “Just in case,” he’d said. Guess he meant it.

He let out a shaky breath and braced himself, staggering over to the ladder. His foot found the first rung, and he pulled himself up, limbs suddenly ten times heavier. Every movement felt like it was happening underwater. He climbed slowly, stopping to catch his breath after nearly every step. His legs wobbled under him, and the ladder creaked with every shift of his weight.

When he finally reached the roof, he shoved himself a little too hard and felt the ladder tip. He turned just in time to see it clatter to the ground with a crash. Loud as hell.

“Shit,” he whispered, flinching. He froze in place, holding his breath, waiting to hear someone inside come to the door. But no one did.

Thank God.

He turned back toward the window, wobbling a little as he crawled across the roof. He nudged the pane open wider and slipped inside, graceless and heavy-limbed. He hit the floor hard, landing on his carpet with a thud. His shoulder slammed into the dresser on the way down, and he let out a sharp groan.

“Fuck…” he muttered, voice slurred and low. He hiccuped and instinctively checked the bottle—still intact. He took one last swig for good measure, then shoved it under his bed into the box he kept hidden there. For later.

He pulled off his shirt and jeans, tossing them into the laundry basket. All he wanted now was to collapse onto the mattress—thoughtless, sleepy, and free to let everything from the past week melt away. But of course, fate had other fucking plans for him.

The sound of the staircase creaking reached his ears from downstairs, and his heart immediately dropped to his ass. He knew who it was just from the footsteps alone. In a panic, he scrambled into bed, yanking the covers over himself and turning to face the wall. He didn’t want to risk making eye contact when the door creaked open a moment later.

“Tom? Are you awake?”

Edd’s soft voice cut through the silence.

Tom almost answered without thinking, but caught himself and stayed still, holding his breath, eyes squeezed shut. Why was it so fucking terrifying to be caught by him? He could hear Edd’s footsteps approach the bed, slow and cautious.

He felt the mattress shift under the man’s weight, and he could practically feel Edd’s gaze pressing into his back. It was painfully quiet.

“I know you’re not asleep. You’re not even breathing.”

Edd’s voice was gentle, teasing, but there was concern buried underneath. A warm hand settled on Tom’s side, giving him a small shake. “Come on. Look at me.”

Tom cursed silently. Fuck! Idiot. He knew if he looked at Edd, it’d be over—he’d fall apart, or fold, or something equally humiliating. But what choice did he have? Keep ignoring him? Edd would figure it out either way. God-fucking-dammit.

Cringing, Tom slowly rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow, trying to plaster on the most sober expression he could manage. Maybe the dark would be on his side.

Of course, it wasn’t.

Edd took one look at him and immediately recoiled. His nose wrinkled and he turned away with a wince.
“Ugh, Tom—are you fucking serious? Your breath reeks.” He scowled, brows furrowing. “How much did you drink? I saw the ladder out front. Seriously? You could’ve gotten hurt.”

And just like that, the scolding began.

Tom let out a sigh, his gaze falling to the mattress as Edd’s words washed over him. He couldn’t help but wonder—if Edd already knew he was drunk, why not just lead with that instead of pretending he didn’t?

“’M not that drunk... Edd,” he slurred, only now realizing how obvious it was. “I just had a little to drink. I had a bad week.” He tried to slow his speech, articulating the words more carefully. It didn’t help much.

Edd’s face shifted into that look—disappointed, pained, concerned. The look Tom hated more than anything.

“Don’t fucking look at me like that, Edd!”
The words came out sharp, defensive. “I’m a fucking adult. I’m not some underage kid you need to babysit—I’m allowed to have a few drinks if I need them.”

Edd winced, his expression tightening. “It’s not like that, Tom. You’re an alcoholic. Recovering... but this? This is too much. You know it is. You’re supposed to be drinking in moderation. I know you don’t like hearing it from me, but I’m not trying to control you—I’m trying to help. If you’re having a bad day, you can talk to me. I’m your best friend, aren’t I?”

“I don’t need your stupid help, Edd. I’m fucking fine on my own. This is nothing.”
Tom shot the words out carelessly, the venom in them even surprising himself. He saw the way Edd’s expression faltered, how his shoulders dropped slightly.

“Just leave me alone—I’m too fuckin’... uh, tired for this shit. Just go. We can talk later.” He pushed lightly at Edd’s chest, turning away again before he could see the damage his words had done.

The tension in the room turned thick and suffocating. Edd didn’t reply. He just stood and walked out without another word, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

And that’s when the guilt hit Tom like a fucking freight train.

Out of nowhere, tears stung his eyes. He clenched a fist into the fabric of his pillow, trembling.
Why the fuck was he always such a dick to Edd? He was just trying to help. Tom knew that—he knew that. But everything inside him blurred when he got like this, his mouth moving faster than his brain. He always regretted it too late.

A few tears slid down his cheeks, hot and humiliating. He shoved his face into the pillow to muffle the dry sobs that threatened to break through, heart aching. He fell asleep like that—curled in on himself, breath shaking, face burning with shame and bitter regret.

.....

Tom woke up with a start the next morning. The moment he cracked his eyes open, his mouth instantly watered, and he shot out of bed toward the bathroom. The cold tiles under his feet barely registered as he rushed to the toilet, hurling up everything from the night before. His head pounded mercilessly, a sharp, dull throb pulsing behind his temples. He tried desperately to piece together what exactly he’d drunk for his stomach to rebel so violently. Fifteen brutal minutes later, he finally stumbled into the shower, the hot water pounding on his skin trying to wash away the fog and nausea.

A vague memory flickered — Edd finding out, the soft but disappointed voice, the argument, Tom cursing him out. The guilt twisted in his gut, tightening its grip, refusing to loosen. He couldn’t shake it. He needed to apologize.

Clean and shaky, Tom shuffled back to his room. He pulled on a pair of fresh checkered pajama pants, socks, and a worn t-shirt, then slumped onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. Up until this moment, he’d been doing well. Almost two weeks clean, limiting himself to a couple drinks here and there — progress he was proud of. And now? It all felt like it was crashing down, like a dam breaking. He had fucked up, and he had to start over. The worst part? No one else knew — just him and Edd — and that made it feel heavier somehow.

He bit the inside of his cheek and then gingerly pulled the box from under his bed, tugging out the cheap bottle of Burnette’s he’d bought the night before. No wonder he felt like shit.

With a heavy sigh, he rubbed his fist over his eye and forced himself to stand, clutching the bottle by the neck. He headed downstairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. As he entered the living room, Tord looked up and immediately scoffed.

“Drinking so early, Tom? That’s a new low.” The cruel joke sliced through the quiet, but Tom only gave a sharp curse in return, brushing past him.

He caught the smell of breakfast coming from the kitchen, his stomach twisting despite itself.

His suspicion was confirmed when he spotted Edd standing by the stove. Tom set the bottle down on the table with a dull thunk, the sound drawing Edd’s attention. The larger man’s eyes flicked from the bottle to Tom, raising an eyebrow as if waiting for an explanation.

Fuck, Tom hated this part.

“Uhm, I…” He teetered on his heels, the words catching in his throat. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to speak. “Look — I’m… sorry.” His voice was low and rough. “I fucked up. I shouldn’t have said the things I said to you. I know you were just looking out for me. I… I messed up my progress.” He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the floor. “I didn’t mean any of it.”

Edd’s expression stayed unreadable for a moment before he sighed softly and shrugged. “It’s okay, Tom. I know you struggle. And I know you didn’t mean any of that — I just worry, you know?” He motioned toward the chair. “Sit down.”

Edd passed over a plate with two slices of toast and some ibuprofen. While setting the plate down, he picked up the bottle and tucked it away in a cabinet — somewhere Tom deliberately avoided looking.

Reluctantly, Tom sank into the chair and eyed the toast. He wasn’t hungry, but he knew it’d help. He thanked Edd quietly, swallowing the pills with a glass of water, then forced a bite of the toast down his throat.

The silence stretched between them, thick and awkward. Edd was usually the one to fill the quiet with jokes or chatter, but now he said nothing. Tom could feel the tension in the air.

“Are you upset with me?” Tom finally asked, his voice small as he stared at the back of Edd’s head.

After a pause, Edd sighed and turned to face him fully. “…I don’t want to be — but yeah. Not about what you said. I just… why do you always turn to drinking?” His arms crossed, eyes sharp but kind.

The question caught Tom off guard. He furrowed his brow, hesitating. Did he really want to admit how vulnerable he got? Maybe. “It’s… like escapism, I guess. I don’t know. I don’t have those shitty thoughts when I’m wasted.” He took a slow bite of toast, avoiding Edd’s gaze.

Edd frowned, searching Tom’s face for something deeper. “What kind of thoughts? Like… the ones you had in high school?”

Tom’s eyes widened, shaking his head quickly. “No! Not at all. I mean…” He slumped back in his chair, voice softer. “It’s not that serious. I guess I just don’t have very good self-control.”

The truth was heavier than he let on. Those dark moods still came sometimes, gnawing at his motivation and hope. Maybe that was what made him spiral this time. But he didn’t want to burden Edd with that. Especially not now.

“I’m good, Edd. Just had a tough week… and made a dumb decision.”

Edd looked skeptical. “I told you last night — you probably don’t remember — but when you feel like that again, come to me. Okay? Don’t be stupid. You’ve got friends for a reason.” He offered a small, reassuring smile.

Tom cringed internally but nodded, warmth creeping into his cheeks. Why did leaning on people always feel so weird? Especially Edd.

“Okay. I will. I’m okay now. Just… embarrassed. Regretful.” He huffed, nibbling the toast absently.

Edd nodded and stepped forward, patting Tom’s shoulder with a soft grin. “Don’t worry. You’ll get back on track. I believe in you.”

Tom felt the heat rise again and chuckled, shrugging off Edd’s hand playfully. “Shut up.”

Edd rolled his eyes but smiled wider. “And finish that food. You barely ate yesterday, and I’m pretty sure you puked up what you did have.”

Tom scoffed but obeyed, chewing slowly as his mind wandered over the strange tangle of feelings swirling between them. He just had to start over again.

........................

The next few weeks were better. A lot better. For a while, Tom even started to believe maybe, just maybe, he could keep things together this time. The mornings didn’t feel so heavy, the nights weren’t so restless. He kept busy, tried to stick to the routines that Edd suggested. But, like always, the universe had other plans.

Out of nowhere, the shitstorm hit again.

He hadn’t even been on the schedule that day. Walking into work felt strange, off. The usual hum of the place was there, but the air was heavier. When he caught sight of his boss, that unease twisted into a knot in his gut. The man didn’t even bother with pleasantries—just cut straight to it.

“We gotta make more cuts,” the boss said flatly, eyes avoiding Tom’s. “I’m sorry, but your position’s on the line.”

Tom’s chest tightened. Cuts again? After everything? His voice rose without him even realizing it.

“What the fuck do you mean? I’ve been here, busting my ass, and you don’t even give me a heads-up? This is bullshit.”

The boss shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t back down. Tom felt the heat rise in his face, the sting of betrayal biting deep.

With a curse that was loud and sharp, he stormed out, chest heaving, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white. How could they just toss him aside like garbage? His mind raced, fingers twitching with anger, every step pounding louder on the pavement outside.

By the time he passed the bar, his steps slowed, and he found himself frozen in front of the entrance. His heart hammered in his chest like a warning drum. The neon glow spilled out, beckoning him with promises of oblivion. But he clenched his jaw and forced himself to keep walking.

No. Not tonight.

He needed to get home, needed the silence of his empty apartment. The buzz in his veins was fierce, a restless fire he couldn’t quite put out. His face burned hot with frustration and exhaustion all mixed up into one.

Inside his room, the familiar pull of his bass guitar called to him like a lifeline. He plugged in his amp, hoping to shred away the storm inside him, the strings and notes a release valve for the rage and sadness tangled in his chest.

He started pacing, hands searching for his pick, but his frustration grew too strong. In his haste, his foot caught on one of the cables snaking across the floor.

The sudden fall was brutal. He crashed onto the floor with a thud, the bass beneath him taking the brunt. There was a sharp crack — a sound that shattered something deep inside him.

“Fuck,” he hissed, heart sinking. He dared a glance down, and his breath hitched. The neck of his bass was snapped clean off, the strings still taut but useless.

His eyes watered—not from pain, but pure, raw frustration. “Fuck,” he spat again, fists trembling as he balled them tight.

It was stupid. Minor. But it was the last straw. The perfect excuse his tangled mind needed to go back to the old, toxic comfort he hated but craved all the same.

He stayed on the floor, staring at the ruined instrument, his chest tight with defeat, before he forced himself up and trudged downstairs. The weight of every step felt heavier than the last.

In the kitchen, his throat was dry and rough. His hands moved almost automatically, rifling through cabinets until they found the bottle Edd had tucked away. The cool glass was familiar and dangerous in equal measure.

Just as his fingers brushed the neck, the front door clicked open.

Tom froze.

He turned, expecting Tord, but it was Edd.

Panic slammed through his chest.

Edd’s eyes locked on the bottle in Tom’s hand. Without a word, he set his groceries down slowly, calm but wary.

“Tom? What’s going on? What are you looking for?” His voice was gentle, but firm—he already knew the answer.

Tom’s mind screamed to lie, to pull back and hide it all, to pretend everything was fine like he always tried to do. Don’t let him see you like this. You’re fine. You’ve got it under control. But the weight of his loneliness pressed harder than that voice, and the desperation for some kind of relief — or maybe just honesty — began to crack his defenses.

Maybe he can help. 

His hand trembled slightly, loosening around the bottle.

“I… I’m looking for a drink,” Tom admitted shamefully, voice rough. “I know I shouldn’t. But I’m angry. I’m tired. I just… I don’t know how else to stop feeling like this.” He admitted, despite the blinding embarrassment of it all. But regardless, he kept going. "I got laid off, and I accidentally broke Susan....It sounds dumb--I know, but..." 

Edd’s expression softened immediately. Without hesitation, he stepped closer and gently took the bottle from Tom’s trembling fingers. The weight of it seemed to lift off Tom’s shoulders the moment it left his grasp.

Before Tom could react, Edd wrapped his arms around him in a firm, comforting hug. Tom stiffened at first, the vulnerability prickling his skin—but then the steady warmth of Edd’s body grounded him. He felt the steady beat of Edd’s heart against his chest, the reassuring pressure of his hands cradling his back in a rather intimate manner.

A slow, deep breath escaped Tom’s lips as relief flooded through him, washing away some of the raw tension. 

“It’s okay, Tom,” Edd murmured quietly into his hair, voice soft but certain. 

Tom closed his eyes, clinging to that moment of comfort as the storm inside him quieted, even if just for a little while.

Tom would’ve argued that getting a hug from your friend wouldn’t have the same satisfying result as getting blackout drunk, but right now, he had to admit—it actually felt better. Edd’s hug was insanely fucking tight, like a wall keeping all the chaos outside for a moment. Tom sighed softly, his tense body gradually relaxing within Edd’s arms, his face sinking reluctantly into the worn fabric of his green zip-up hoodie.

“...Jeez..” he muttered, exhaustion melting from his limbs like ice under the sun.

Edd pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes with a small grin. “See? Opening up and getting a hug—scientifically proven to be way better than drowning your problems in booze.” He gave a playful wink. “Well, that and pizza, but tonight I’m gonna stick with the hug and some good food.”

Tom cracked a tired smile, the joke easing the weight in his chest a little more.

Eventually, Edd released him fully, and Tom felt a surprising surge of relief. He knew he’d overreacted, rushing straight for the bottle like that was his only option. But stress had him blinded, and Edd’s steady presence was exactly what he needed.

But Edd wasn’t done yet. His hand found Tom’s shoulder again, firm but gentle, grounding him. “Hey—how about this? It’s just us tonight. I’ll whip something up to eat, and we can have a proper movie night. Like the old days, yeah?”

Tom’s throat tightened, almost like he wanted to cry again from how thoughtful that offer was. He’d expected annoyance or frustration from Edd after all this, maybe even an ultimatum. But no—Edd was here, still his rock, still willing to ride out the storm with him.

“That sounds good,” Tom said softly, a genuine smile spreading across his face despite the tiredness. “Thanks, Edd. This… I appreciate this.”

He paused, eyes locking with Edd’s for a beat longer than usual, like they were both waiting for something unspoken.

“I’ll take a quick shower,” Tom added quickly, turning to head upstairs. “I’ll be down by the time you’re done cooking.”

He heard Edd hum his approval, warm and easy, and felt a familiar blush creep up his cheeks—the same one from a couple weeks ago. Was he imagining it? Had something shifted between them? Edd had always been warm, funny, and genuine, but now there was a new kind of warmth, something subtly different. Like a quiet invitation beneath the surface, almost flirtatious in its restraint.

Tom shoved the thought away. If neither of them was going to say anything, it was better to leave it buried. For now.

He stepped into the shower, feeling a rare flicker of excitement at the thought of the movie night. Maybe this was something to hold onto, a little light in the mess. He scrubbed extra thoroughly with his sweetly scented soap, thinking—maybe if he smelled nice enough, Edd would notice when they sat close together.

After a good thirty minutes, he threw on his usual t-shirt and sweatpants and headed downstairs. The delicious aroma of soup hit him as soon as he rounded the corner into the kitchen.

Edd was at the stove, expertly tossing a bunch of seasonings into the pot, steam swirling around him.

“Smells amazing,” Tom said, stepping up behind him and taking a deep breath, standing close enough to feel the warmth radiating off Edd’s side.

Edd brushed lightly against him, just a touch, and Tom’s stomach flipped. Butterflies surged and twisted in a way that was new and unexpected.

Okay, what the fuck was that?

“It’s about done. Go find a movie, I’ll put this shit on a plate and meet you in there.” Edd nudged Tom with his elbow, the contact lingering just a split second longer than usual.

Tom’s breath hitched for a moment. He nodded stiffly and spun on his heel, heading back toward the living room. His hands trembled a bit as he searched around for the remote, eventually finding it wedged between couch cushions. He gathered a few pillows, piling them in a cozy nest on the couch, and snagged a soft, worn blanket, folding it so they could both share it.

As he scrolled through Netflix’s new releases, he tried to find something lighthearted—he knew Edd loved a good comedy. After a few indecisive minutes, Tom landed on a thriller-slash comedy hybrid. It wasn’t perfect, but it had enough dark humor to keep things interesting. Just as he hit play, he heard footsteps behind him.

Edd entered the room, balancing a couple of bowls in his arms like some overachieving waiter.

“Damn, what the hell is all that?” Tom snorted, eyeing the bounty.

Edd chuckled softly. “Don’t make me laugh, or I’m gonna drop this boiling soup all over you.” He set the dishes down carefully, one by one: two steaming bowls of soup, a plate of beautifully sliced fruit and crackers, and a small pile of chocolate squares. Tom’s eyes widened—this was some next-level care right here.

“Jeez, Edd. You really outdid yourself,” Tom said, feeling the couch dip beside him as Edd settled in.

“I wanted to do something nice for you. You sounded like you needed it.” Edd winked, his gaze lingering in a way that made Tom’s chest tighten. To distract himself, Tom flicked his attention back to the screen and hit play.

They lounged back, eating slowly at first but then with eager hunger. Tom always found himself extra hungry when he was with Edd—the comfort of the company somehow made the food taste better. The soup was perfect: warm and soothing, with just the right kick of spice.

When they finished, Edd drew the blanket over them both, mumbling something about how it was a little chilly. Tom wasn’t sure if he really believed that, but he didn’t question it.

Instead, he stayed still, barely breathing, as Edd inched closer. First their legs brushed, then their sides, then their shoulders pressed together, and eventually Edd’s arm wrapped around Tom’s shoulders, pulling him tight.

Was this normal for friends? Edd was a tactile person, sure, but was this just friendship… or something else?

Tom froze when he felt a slight weight settle atop his head. He squinted, confused for a moment, before realizing it was Edd’s chin resting there. His nose.

Edd inhaled deeply, and Tom’s cheeks flamed red.

“You smell good. Like vanilla,” Edd murmured, his voice low and soft.

Tom nearly shuddered, mouth opening to respond, but nothing came out. Why was he so flustered? This was just his best friend, for God’s sake! He was probably just overthinking everything.

Just then, Edd leaned back, his arm still draped lazily across Tom’s shoulders.

His clear hazel eyes locked with Tom’s, concern flickering across his face. “Hey, are you alright?”

Tom blinked, momentarily stunned, before finding his voice. “Yeah… um,” he began, his words hesitant. He debated whether to just be straightforward like Edd told him—open up and say what he felt.

“Edd, you’re, like, my best friend, right?”

Edd raised an eyebrow. “Of course, dude.”

“So… just my best friend?” Tom pushed, voice barely above a whisper.

Edd’s expression tightened for a beat, then a slow, amused grin spread across his face. He burst out laughing, slapping Tom on the back with a strength that sent a jolt through him.

Tom felt the familiar flush creep up his neck and flood his face in a blaze of embarrassment. Fuck, had he really misread that?

When Edd finally caught his breath, wiping a tear from his eye, he teased, “What, you asking if I’ve been trying to get at you? Flirt with you?”

Tom leaned back against the cushions, the warmth of Edd’s arm still around him, and groaned softly. “Yeah… something like that.”

Edd chuckled again, his grin turning mischievous. “Really?”

Tom felt his heart rate speed up, the corners of his lips turning down. 

The shorter Brit scowled, his heart sinking deeper than he expected. What had he thought was coming? A joke? A brush-off? Or maybe some awkward denial? “No! I mean, I don’t know. I’m stupid, I was just… ugh.” He slapped a hand over his face, shaking his head in frustration with himself. His voice cracked on the last word, raw and vulnerable.

Edd was quick to catch Tom’s wrist, gently pulling the hand away from his face. His expression softened, growing more serious and sincere than Tom had seen in a while—too sincere. “I was,” he said quietly, locking eyes with him. “I don’t know why it took you so long to notice. I thought maybe I’d been too subtle or something.” His voice was low, almost hesitant, but his gaze was unwavering.

Tom’s jaw dropped. His dark eyes widened, disbelief flooding him. “…W-what? You did? You were? Why?” His words tumbled out, confusion and awe mingling in his tone. He felt utterly dumb, like he’d been missing a secret the whole time.

Edd let out a small, rueful laugh. “Seriously, Tom? You’re not that dense, are you?” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as if embarrassed. “I’ve had the biggest crush on you since, like… high school. It was one of those ‘don’t want to mess up our friendship’ things, you know? But… recently, I started thinking maybe you feel the same way. And that little date night we had? Maybe it helped make things a bit clearer. About how I feel.” He shrugged, the blunt honesty hanging between them like a fragile thread.

Tom blinked, absolutely flabbergasted. Crush since high school? Date night? Him? It all felt like a surreal dream—or a prank. He glanced around half-expecting Tord to pop out and call him a ‘fag’ in that usual mocking tone. But no one appeared. When he looked back at Edd, the man was watching him so intently that Tom felt an urgent need to look away—to hide how vulnerable and exposed he suddenly felt.

“You do feel the same, don’t you?” Edd pressed softly, leaning in just a little closer. The warmth of his body was sudden and intoxicating, making Tom’s breath hitch. Why was this feeling so different from anything they’d ever shared before? Why was Edd making his skin tingle and his heart beat out of sync? Was it possible—no, was it real—that he had a crush on his best friend too?

The brunette’s face drew nearer, and Tom’s mind scrambled desperately for an answer. His tongue felt thick, his mouth dry and clumsy. His gaze flickered helplessly down to Edd’s lips—the curve of the stubble, the familiar snake bite piercing his bottom lip. The urge to close the distance and kiss him was overpowering.

His chest tightened, and his arm twitched as Edd’s hand slid around his back, pulling him gently forward, inviting and sure. Tom’s breath hitched again as his resolve crumbled by the second. 

“Well?” Edd rumbled, voice low and thick as he leaned in even closer. Their noses nudged together, breath mingling in the scant space left between them. Tom finally mustered up the nerve to reply, even though—at this point—he thought it was pretty damn obvious.

“…Yeah. I do,” he rasped out.

And then finally, the gap between them vanished.

The spark that shot through Tom’s chest was almost comparable to the first thrilling rush of getting drunk—maybe even better. His heart jolted, thudding hard as Edd’s lips met his with firm, deliberate pressure, no longer hesitant or unsure. He clutched at Edd’s zip-up jacket, fingers knotting into the soft fabric like he was afraid the man might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight. He hadn’t realized—hadn’t let himself realize—how badly he’d wanted this. With Edd, especially.

Their bodies pressed flush together, warm and overwhelming. The heat radiating off the larger man was almost dizzying. Edd deepened the kiss with a quiet groan, a hand sliding along Tom’s side as if trying to memorize the shape of him.

Edd pulled back with a breathless huff, only to bend further down and nuzzle into Tom’s neck. His lips dragged slow, heated kisses along the line of his jaw and down the sensitive skin just below his ear.

“God—Tom,” Edd panted, voice rough and wrecked. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for your dumbass to take the fucking hints.”

His fingers gripped Tom’s sides like he didn’t want to let go.

Tom stared up at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, still caught in disbelief that Edd had always felt this way. His brain scrambled to make sense of it—of everything. Looking back now, it was all there. Edd had always been touchy, but come to think of it… only with him. He always planned things around Tom’s interests. He always cared—deeply, fiercely—when Tom was going through something. He took everything Tom said personally. Shit.

He really had been dense.

Tom grunted as Edd’s kisses trailed down to his collarbone, warm breath ghosting over the skin there. Fingers slid beneath the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward with impatient hands. The contact made Tom shiver.

“I g-guess I did overlook some things,” he choked out, breath catching when Edd’s hand brushed across one of his nipples. His shoulder jumped involuntarily, and he heard the man chuckle against his neck.

“You’re into nipple stuff, Tom? Aw, you never told me that…” Edd teased, voice low and smug as he pushed the shirt higher—up to Tom’s chin, briefly pinning his arms in the process.

His thumbs swiped lightly over Tom’s now-sensitive nipples, making him twitch.

Tom groaned aloud, squirming as he struggled to yank the shirt the rest of the way off. “You ass, I’m not! It’s just—fucking sensitive,” he hissed, heat rising in his face as he tried not to arch into the man’s touch.

“Um, yeah, sensitive means you like it,” Edd grinned, smug and warm all at once, as he finally tugged the shirt off entirely. The discarded fabric hit the floor with a soft rustle, but Edd didn’t seem to care—he was far too focused on Tom. His gaze swept slowly over him, not with the detached curiosity of a friend, but with the affection and hunger of someone who’d imagined this more than a few times.

Tom squirmed under the intensity of it. “What? You’ve seen it all before…” he mumbled, trying to downplay how exposed he felt. He shot Edd a sheepish smile, a little flush already spreading across his cheeks.

Edd huffed a low laugh through his nose, then reached out to splay a large hand over Tom’s lower stomach. “Sure,” he murmured, “but it’s different under this context.” His voice dropped an octave. “Although… I have imagined this before.”

Tom’s breath hitched.

Edd’s eyes tracked downward with almost reverence, lingering on every inch of skin. Then he dipped his head and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to Tom’s belly. Tom jolted at the sensation, his muscles twitching beneath the warmth of Edd’s lips.

“You—what?” Tom asked weakly, but Edd didn’t answer. He just hooked a finger in the waistband of Tom’s sweatpants, his thumb brushing teasingly over the faint trail of hair that led downward. His kisses followed the same line, slow and maddening, working their way down Tom’s navel with steady persistence. Each kiss was soft but hot, and the closer Edd got to the waistband, the more Tom’s nerves lit up like static.

Tom’s hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure where to go—should he touch Edd’s shoulders? His hair? Himself? His thoughts short-circuited as Edd pulled the sweats down another inch, then another, until he was pressing a kiss just above that sensitive patch of skin where hip met thigh.

“Fuck, Edd, stop fucking around,” Tom gasped, grabbing a fistful of Edd’s hair without thinking. His voice cracked on the curse, both from impatience and from how hard his heart was pounding.

Edd smiled against his skin, eyes glinting with mischief as he glanced up. “Sorry. Just let me enjoy this, okay?” he said, his tone softer, but no less loaded. “I’ve been waiting.”

Tom grumbled something incoherent, but didn’t push him away. He sighed, long-suffering, though the flush spreading down his neck betrayed his eagerness.

And finally—finally—Edd tugged everything down in one smooth pull. Tom’s underwear and sweats slipped down to his thighs, cool air hitting flushed skin, leaving him bare and exposed beneath Edd’s steady stare.

There was a brief, loaded silence.

Tom stared at Edd.

Edd stared at—

You know what.

And then, like something snapped into place, Edd surged forward, pressing his face right into Tom’s cunt without ceremony. His hooked nose nuzzled deep, and his tongue wasted no time spearing between slick folds. Tom’s entire body jerked, a sharp moan clawing its way from his throat as his spine bowed involuntarily.

“Oh, shit—” he hissed, hips twitching. His legs lifted on reflex, heels planting on the couch as if bracing himself against the sheer intensity of what was happening.

Edd’s hand returned to Tom’s lower belly, holding him down, while his other arm curled around Tom’s thigh, keeping it spread wide. He buried his face deeper, shameless, like he couldn’t get enough. Tom could feel the way Edd’s brows furrowed in concentration, could hear the soft, muffled grunts of pleasure that buzzed against his skin.

It was obscene—and kind of the hottest thing Tom had ever experienced.

It had been a while. Maybe too long. His nerves were lit up like live wires. His thighs were trembling at the sides of Edd’s face, quivering each time that tongue flicked across his clit with maddening precision. He bit back moans, biting his knuckle, until one particularly hard press made his whole body snap forward like a bowstring.

“Edd!” he yelped, voice gone embarrassingly high as his hand instinctively yanked at Edd’s hair.

Edd moaned. Moaned into him.

The vibration of it made Tom’s toes curl.

His mouth hung open in disbelief, chest rising and falling in quick, shaky bursts. He could barely form a coherent thought. But then, he remembered something—revenge.

Flushed and panting, Tom grinned down meanly at the man between his legs and gave a purposeful tug at Edd’s hair, dragging him up by the locks. “You into hair pulling?” he teased breathlessly, his voice a little rough around the edges. “Aw, you didn’t tell me that either.”

Edd’s face was pink, glistening, and he was clearly trying to play it cool—but the telltale heat blooming across his cheeks betrayed him. “Very funny,” he huffed, climbing back up over Tom. “We’ll see who’s laughing by the end of this.”

Tom barely had time to smirk before Edd was on him—over him—making the difference in their size impossible to ignore. Edd was massive. Broad-shouldered, thick arms, heavy frame pressing Tom into the mattress like it was nothing. Even hovering, he felt everywhere at once.

And Tom… well, Tom wasn’t small. He had some weight, sure. But compared to Edd? He was smaller. And that realization sent a strange, shivery thrill down his spine.

Edd kissed him again, rougher now—mouth demanding, tongue hot as it pressed into his. And then—

Tom choked on a sound as two of Edd’s thick fingers slid between his folds, gathering slick before pressing in without hesitation. They sank in to the knuckle, stretching him open, and Edd didn’t even pause—his fingers immediately began to scissor and curl, like he knew exactly what Tom needed.

Tom gasped into the kiss, his legs twitching again. “Fuck—!”

Edd swallowed the sound greedily, deepening the kiss, his body slotting fully over Tom’s now. There was no space between them, just heat, and friction, and that low-burning ache of something long-awaited finally snapping into motion.

Tom whimpered, the noise breaking through all his defenses, and for the first time tonight, he didn’t care how wrecked he sounded.

Edd had him.

And god, he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Tom clung to Edd’s shoulders like a lifeline while the bigger man worked him open with unforgiving precision. His fingers were thick and steady, curling deep with practiced confidence, spreading him apart until Tom could feel the stretch in the back of his throat. Every push forward had his hips twitching, his body trying to back away on instinct—only to press right back into it with need. Edd's palm didn’t stay idle either; every retreat of his fingers came with a drag of his hand up against Tom’s clit, the blunt heel of it grinding just right. It was too good. Suspiciously good.

Tom’s brain hiccuped on that. Like—how the fuck did Edd know how to do all this? But that thought got immediately buried under a surge of heat when Edd pushed in again, rougher this time, and Tom let out a breathy sound into the kiss that made his face burn.

Edd wasn’t just working his hands like a pro—his mouth stayed just as busy, lips sliding against Tom’s in a dizzy, open-mouthed kiss. There was barely any rhythm to it now, just shared panting and tongues brushing lazily as the heat between them spiked. Tom was dazed, honestly. His jaw had slackened, drool slicking the side of his mouth where they’d gotten so sloppy, and Edd didn’t seem to mind one bit.

He was losing track of where he ended and Edd began. The grind of his hips became instinctual, rolling up into Edd’s hand with a kind of desperation that embarrassed him, but he couldn't stop. His thighs were trembling, his stomach tightening with that electric pull of release coiling tighter and tighter. Every time Edd’s fingers scissored or pressed just a little deeper, it felt like a jolt behind his ribs.

Tom's grip on Edd’s hoodie turned from steady clinging to frantic pulling, bunching the fabric in his fists as his moans overtook his breath. He wasn’t trying to be quiet anymore—he couldn’t. Every gasp came louder, every breath shaky and broken. His eyes fluttered shut, chasing the edge mindlessly—

And then Edd slowed.

Tom jerked slightly in confusion, whining without meaning to when the palm pressure vanished and those perfect, punishing fingers went still inside him. His chest heaved, sweat clinging to his skin, throat tight with unsaid protest. He blinked up at Edd, lips red and parted, too dazed to form a full sentence but absolutely broadcasting What the fuck?

Edd didn’t say a word. Just watched him, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with heat. Then, slowly—deliberately—he added a third finger.

Tom’s back arched in shock as the stretch burned in the best fucking way, a loud groan dragging out of him before he could even try to suppress it.

“Fuck—Edd—” he gasped, but the man only smiled softly, almost affectionately, as he started again from the top.

It was slower this time. More intentional. His fingers pressed in deep and wide, curling and spreading Tom apart until he squirmed, and then pulling out to the edge again just to drive him crazy. His mouth stayed close, lips brushing Tom’s like a phantom touch. Each time Tom leaned in, chasing a real kiss, Edd would just barely evade him—kissing at the corner of his mouth, the edge of his jaw, but never fully giving in.

Tom whimpered, chest rising and falling with desperation. His legs were shaking around Edd’s hips, his body tightening all over again, this time slower. More torturous. The deliberate pace meant every nerve had time to feel everything. Every push, every drag, every ghost of a kiss.

Edd murmured against his cheek, low and amused, “You’re close again already, huh? Didn’t even let me enjoy you falling apart the first time.”

Tom groaned in response, hips bucking up helplessly, fingers curling into the fabric over Edd’s back. His whole body was hot—too hot—and vibrating at the edge of something dangerously good.

And still, Edd kept the rhythm steady. Controlled. Drawn out. Like he wanted to wring every last bit of need out of him before letting him tip over.

And fuck, it was working.

Tom’s breath hitched as Edd’s fingers continued their slow, expert movements between his legs, curling and pressing deep with steady, tantalizing pressure. He was sprawled on his back, the couch cushions cradling him, every nerve ending alight with the exquisite torment of Edd’s touch. The wet heat pooling inside him was almost unbearable, his hips involuntarily lifting as he chased the mounting tension that Edd so mercilessly fanned.

“Come on, Edd,” Tom groaned, voice rough and breathless, trying to squirm away just a little despite how much he craved the contact. “Hurry the fuck up. I’m ready.”

Edd chuckled darkly, lips twitching into a sly grin as his eyes locked onto Tom’s flushed face. “Ready, huh? Patience is a virtue, Tom,” he teased, sliding his thumb in slow, deliberate circles over Tom’s most sensitive spot. “I want to make sure I don't hurt you.”

The teasing tone sent a fresh shiver of desire through Tom’s body, and he tried to glare, but the effort was weak—too weak, because the way Edd’s fingers stretched and stroked him had his muscles trembling. "Hurt me?-fuck, That's a little cocky."

"Pun Intended?" The brunette teased, but after a beat, Edd’s grin softened just a little. “Alright, alright,” he murmured, sliding his hand away reluctantly, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer like they hated to stop. “Flip over. On your hands and knees.”

Tom blinked, the command sending an unexpected thrill through him. He pushed at the couch, hips rising slowly as he obeyed, shifting to all fours with a mixture of eagerness and hesitation. His heart hammered in his chest as Edd’s gaze raked over him, eyes dark and hungry, anticipation radiating from every line of his broad shoulders.

"Finally, I was tired of that fuckin' edging." 

Edd followed closely behind, eyebrow lifting at those words. His hands were already ghosting over Tom’s back and down to his hips, warm and heavy and completely possessive. The air thickened with tension, and Tom’s breath hitched once again as he waited for whatever came next, muscles taut and ready.

Tom's breath caught the second Edd’s palm landed firm between his shoulder blades. That single, possessive press sent a throb straight to his core. He gritted his teeth, trying to suppress the whimper that clawed at his throat. It wasn’t just the anticipation — it was the way Edd handled him. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he knew how to wind Tom up until he was trembling and begging without meaning to.

“Jesus,” Tom muttered into the couch cushion, muffled and breathless. “You gonna keep looming over me or what?”

Behind him, Edd chuckled — and fuck, Tom could hear the grin in it. That cocky, knowing edge. Like he had the upper hand and fully intended to use it. His hand slid slowly up Tom’s spine, fingertips dragging, teasing. Then he shifted lower, warm skin pressing in close, his chest against Tom’s back for just a second — enough to make the Brit twitch.

"You’re so impatient," Edd murmured low in his ear, voice thick with arousal. “Thought you liked being edged.”

Tom scoffed, though it broke halfway into a gasp when he felt the blunt head of Edd’s cock press against him, heavy and hot. He bit his lip, trying not to show just how much he wanted it.

Edd didn't push in right away. Of course he didn’t.

He slid himself between Tom’s thighs deliberately, letting the weight of him press up along the slick heat, dragging the head of his cock through the mess he’d made earlier with his mouth and fingers. Tom jerked slightly at the stimulation, his elbows bending as he slumped lower into the couch cushions.

"Edd—" he warned, voice high, nearly breaking.

“Shh,” Edd breathed, one hand wrapping tight around Tom’s hip. His thumb pressed into the soft dip there, gripping firmly. “Relax for me.”

And finally — finally — he pushed in.

The stretch was intense, sudden, thick, and slow, inch by inch. Tom groaned long and low, forehead dropping to the couch arm. It felt like he was being split open. Not in a painful way — in a full way. Like Edd was trying to make a point. Like he was proving something with every second that passed.

“Fucking hell,” Tom hissed, his knuckles whitening where he gripped the cushions.

Edd paused when he was halfway in, panting against the back of Tom’s neck. “You good?” he murmured, lips brushing the damp skin there.

Tom gave a frantic nod, even as his legs trembled beneath him. “Yeah. Keep going. Fuck, just—”

Edd didn't wait for him to finish. He pushed the rest of the way in, hips snug against Tom’s ass. The sudden fullness made Tom keen — a broken sound that he didn’t even try to muffle this time.

And for a second, they just stayed there.

Edd buried deep, both hands braced on Tom’s hips now, fingers digging into the flesh like he never wanted to let go. Tom’s body was tense, struggling to adjust, but god, he loved the stretch. Loved the heat. Loved the feeling of being pinned like this — held down and completely filled.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Edd groaned against his skin, his voice raw with restraint.

Then he started moving.

The first thrust was slow, dragging. Just enough to get them both shivering. Then another, deeper. Tom’s breath hitched. Then another — harder this time, a rhythmic slap of skin meeting skin that echoed against the quiet walls of the living room.

Tom gritted his teeth, moaning openly now. Each thrust was like a jolt to his spine, the angle perfect, Edd grinding in a little at the end of every stroke to make sure he hit deep. Tom’s arms gave out a bit — he slumped lower, his cheek pressed to the warm couch, drool threatening to spill from the corner of his mouth.

Edd leaned over him again, his breath hot on Tom’s ear, his hips never slowing. “You love this,” he growled softly, his voice dripping with heat. “Love being bent over and fucked like this.”

Tom tried to deny it. He really did. But the moan that ripped from his throat when Edd shifted just slightly — hitting thatspot — gave him away completely.

“Shit—Edd—there, fuck, there—”

Edd laughed, one hand sliding up to wrap in Tom’s hair and tug his head back. “Yeah? Right there?” he whispered, voice smug as hell.

Tom’s entire body was buzzing, thighs quaking, arms trembling from the effort of holding on. “Don’t stop,” he begged, the words slurred and wet against the cushions. “Just—don’t fucking stop.”

And Edd didn’t.

He set a brutal, unforgiving rhythm, hips slapping into Tom’s ass, their bodies moving in sync. It was filthy. Perfect. Sweat gathered at the base of Tom’s spine, his back arching into the next thrust, his noises turning breathy and wild. He was losing it, completely unraveling — and Edd could tell.

“Close?” Edd asked low, his thumb sliding back between Tom’s legs to rub over his clit in tight, merciless circles.

Tom choked on a moan, his entire body tensing.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—Edd—Edd—”

His climax hit him so hard it stole the air from his lungs. He came with a strangled cry, back bowing, thighs squeezing tight around Edd’s hips as he trembled through the aftershocks. The pressure, the fullness, the heat — it was too much, too good, and it dragged the orgasm out in waves that left Tom gasping.

Edd slowed just enough to ride it out with him, panting hard, his grip on Tom unwavering.

And even as Tom collapsed forward, twitching and weak, Edd wasn’t done yet. He leaned in, kissing along the back of Tom’s shoulder, voice dark and warm against his skin.

“Still think I’m being cocky?” he asked.

Tom couldn’t even reply. He just whimpered — half-laugh, half-moan — and braced himself for round two.

Edd didn’t give him long to wind back down. Barely a minute passed before the pace resumed, sudden and jarring in its intensity. Tom’s cheek was still pressed into the cushion, and Edd’s broad hand had moved to the back of his neck, heavy and unrelenting, keeping him pinned to the couch like prey. It wasn’t cruel—it was possessive, anchoring. And it made something electric burn down Tom’s spine. The slap of skin on skin echoed rhythmically through the living room, a steady, obscene tempo made louder by the empty house.

Tom bit back a moan, eyes fluttering open only to blur with tears at the edges. It wasn’t sadness—it was overstimulation, pressure behind his eyes as his body was pushed again past what it thought it could take. The harsh pace made his back arch tight, his nails clawing helplessly into the couch cushions. Every brutal stroke was electric, and the more Edd gave, the more Tom’s hips started to rock back into it, involuntarily chasing that pressure.

But then—Edd slowed. Not to a stop, but to a grinding, deep drag of his hips. Slow and deliberate. And Tom whimpered at the shift, thinking it would give him a breather, only to find it was somehow worse. The slow pace made every sensation sharper—hotter. Tom’s thighs trembled with the burn of it, his core clenching around the stretch, the heat rolling over him in waves that made him dizzy.

He didn’t expect to be so close again. Not already. Not after that first release left his whole body boneless. But here he was—tight and shaking, tension gathering deep and low like a lit fuse. His abs trembled, his breath caught, and the pressure inside him swelled with every careful grind.

Then Edd’s hand slid forward, thick fingers curling around Tom’s jaw, pulling his head back—not roughly, but enough to keep his mouth open, angled to catch every ragged noise that spilled out. It was intimate and filthy at the same time.

Tom tried to swallow the sound down, but it escaped anyway, a desperate slur of breath and voice: “Nnhh-fuckk, Edd, ‘m gonna cum again,” he gasped, hips rolling back of their own accord, clenching around every slow, perfect thrust.

Edd groaned, a low sound that rumbled from his chest—primal, wrecked. His pace didn’t quicken, but he adjusted his hips, lifting slightly with each thrust to catch a different angle. And then he found it—that one spot that made Tom cry out, jaw going slack as his body gave an involuntary jolt.

“Yeah?” Edd breathed, low and warm near Tom’s ear. “Again, baby?” He sounded almost in awe, but smug about it. “Bet you can do it without me even touching your clit this time, huh?”

He punctuated the sentence with a single, deep thrust that made Tom choke on his own moan, his back arching so hard it trembled. Edd’s voice came again, quieter but more intimate, spoken into the space where their bodies met: “You feel fuckin’ perfect like this. So greedy for it.”

And all Tom could do was nod, mouth open, breathless, bracing himself for the oncoming edge that was about to hit him like a train.

This was actually better than being drunk. Better than any fucking high he'd ever chased with a bottle or two. It gave him the same dizzy, floaty, out-of-body feeling — all thoughts swept away in the tide of euphoria flooding his system — but it was sharper, hotter, rooted in something real and physical. Every inch of Tom’s body was lit up and alert, blood pounding in his ears and buzzing in his limbs like he’d just downed a fifth of whiskey and then got set on fire.

He could feel all the muscles in his body locking up, everything engaged, trembling, strained in that desperate way his core clenched down around Edd’s cock every time it was pulled out slowly — deliberately — until just the thick tip remained. Then Edd would push it back in with that agonizing drag that made Tom’s head spin. His nails bit into the couch cushion below him, fists tight, face twisted in blissed-out disbelief.

God. Fucking hell. Tom was actually losing it. This sex was insane. Unreal. Borderline evil.

His thighs shook with the effort to stay upright, knees instinctively pulling inward and body buckling with each careful, pinpointed thrust. His breath stuttered — broken, shallow — chest heaving as Edd drove back in again and again at that cruel, unchanging pace, spearing into his sweet spot with perfect fucking precision. Every movement wrung another shiver out of him, coaxing fireworks that kept teasing the edge without quite giving him the satisfaction of falling over it — until—

He gasped, high-pitched and breathless, as it finally started to crest. That second orgasm was coming in waves, flickering under his skin like static. It made his hips twitch and his vision blur. And then Edd tilted his hips at just the right angle, hitting it again, deep, slow, brutal — and Tom shattered.

“Oh—god, okay—fuck, fuck,” he stammered, his voice cracking as he came hard as fuck, untouched again, his body locking up and convulsing around Edd’s cock like a vice. His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw slack, drool sliding freely from the corner of his mouth and soaking into the expensive decorative pillow he was now practically faceplanting into. His arms buckled under him slightly, everything shaking, ruined by the sheer force of it.

And Edd was still inside him.

Tom panted through it, face flushed, body limp, mind fried. He was trembling from head to toe, slick with sweat, and barely coherent — but it still registered.

Wait. What the fuck?

Edd hadn’t cum yet.

That… no. No, there’s no way. That was two for him. Two wrecking, earth-shattering orgasms, and Edd was still fucking standing? Still holding back?

Tom tried to lift his head. His neck gave a weak protest, muscles rubbery and overstretched, but he managed to glance over his shoulder, eyes wide with disbelief. And there Edd was — looming behind him like a goddamn statue, his chest rising and falling, face flushed, pupils blown wide. He looked wild, sweaty, but completely in control. His hands were still on Tom — one holding his waist in place, the other resting low on his back like a brand — but he wasn’t moving yet.

He was waiting.

Tom blinked, struggling to catch his breath. “You haven’t— Edd… holy shit, I don’t think I can go again,” he rasped, voice hoarse and cracking at the edges.

Edd cocked his head, his darkened eyes slow and burning as they traced every inch of Tom’s trembling frame. He looked like he was fucking starving. His voice came low and dangerously close to a growl.

“I thought you said you were tired of me edging you,” he replied, and leaned in just enough for Tom to feel the warmth of his breath against his spine. “I’m giving you what you wanted.”

Tom’s stomach flipped violently. Fuck.

“God damn it, Edd… you know this isn't what I meant,” Tom panted, his voice hoarse, torn at the edges with exhaustion. His breath hitched as he slumped forward, pressing his damp forehead into the cool fabric of the pillow beneath him. The plush cushion absorbed the humid heat radiating from his flushed face, damp with sweat and spit, the pillowcase slowly darkening where his skin met cloth. His cunt still fluttered with the echoing aftershocks of his last orgasm, each subtle throb making his muscles twitch involuntarily.

“I really… don’t think I can cum again,” he huffed, voice strained and trembling. His eyes fluttered shut as he felt Edd’s weight shift behind him — the man leaning fully over his body until his broad chest blanketed Tom’s back. The heat between them was sweltering, sweat beading where their skin met, their breaths mingling in the space between. Edd’s lips grazed the back of his neck, his exhale warm and damp against Tom’s flushed skin.

“Yes you can, Tom,” Edd murmured against his nape, voice low and unwavering. He kissed slowly across the slope of his neck, then up, lips dragging across the side of Tom’s jaw. The tenderness contrasted dizzyingly with the overstimulation vibrating through Tom’s body.

“If you can finish nearly three entire bottles of Smirnoff in the span of one night,” Edd whispered, his voice dipping into something dangerously smooth, “I can make you cum three times, baby.”

Tom gasped when a hand slid beneath him, Edd’s large palm pressing down deliberately against his lower stomach — just enough pressure to make the sensitive, aching area under his navel buzz. The nerves there were already frayed raw from everything that came before, and the pressure made his back arch slightly in reflex.

“Nnngh—Edd…” he whimpered, wincing.

Still… god, Edd’s voice. That low, taunting rasp, laced with affection and something far more possessive, slithered into the folds of Tom’s mind like smoke. His brain was mush. His body ached, but the heat curling deep in his gut was spreading again, dragging him helplessly back under.

“…Mmm. Fuck. Fine,” Tom groaned finally, defeated, his voice weak and unsure but willing — always willing when it came to Edd.

Edd huffed a laugh, smug but warm. “Good boy,” he rumbled, thick with praise. He didn't pull away — not really. His chest stayed pressed tight to Tom’s sweat-slick back, his hand bracing at Tom’s waist while he drew his hips back slowly. The stretch returned again, slow and burning and intimate. He rolled his hips forward with excruciating care, the thick drag of his cock moving against swollen, tender walls.

And again.

And again.

That slow, steady rhythm.

He was going for it. That fucking pace again.

Tom whimpered into the pillow, his body taut like an overwound string. Every roll of Edd’s hips against his was like a slow lick of fire across raw nerves. It didn’t feel like buildup — not exactly. But god, it felt good. Like being pulled underwater in warm waves, held there, floating, burning, simmering.

Time stopped meaning anything.

Tom’s thighs trembled. His breath hitched, low and stuttering in his throat, his lungs struggling to keep up with the tension building deep inside. His skin was slick and sticky with sweat. He could feel it trailing in rivulets down the inside of his thighs, tickling as it went. The couch creaked beneath them with each roll of Edd’s hips, muffled only by their bodies pressed close and the squelch of lube and arousal thick between them.

Edd’s hand came up again, this time stuffing two fingers into Tom’s slack mouth. He held them there, keeping Tom’s jaw slack with easy pressure. Tom could only pant around them, moaning softly, practically drooling past Edd’s knuckles as he melted under him.

And then — Edd started talking.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, right into the shell of Tom’s ear, his breath hot and heavy. “I can feel you. You can do it. One more for me.”

Tom’s entire body trembled. His knees dug into the couch cushions as he braced himself against the tide rising inside him, helpless against the praise, the voice, the rhythm, the heat.

“You want help?” Edd asked, coaxing and so fucking smug. He kissed gently at the corner of Tom’s mouth, just behind where his fingers rested. “You want my help, baby?”

Tom could barely nod, barely manage a noise of consent, but it was enough.

The hand on his stomach slid downward.

Two fingers found his clit again, swollen and hypersensitive, and began to rub — slow, gentle circles that lit his nerves on fire.

That was all it took

.

Thomas gasped, loud and high, his spine arching as a bolt of white pleasure ripped through him. His eyes rolled back, vision spotting at the edges as his walls clamped around Edd’s cock again, fluttering with a vengeance.

“Holy fuck,” he choked out, voice hoarse and thin, his entire body locking up before shivering apart in waves.

And still — Edd didn’t stop. His pace never changed. He kept moving, fucking Tom through it, circling his clit as Tom sobbed through the overstimulation. The Brit whined and squirmed, trying to close his legs, trying to twist away, but Edd didn’t let him. His hand was firm between Tom’s thighs, holding him open, keeping him pliant.

“Shhh, I got you, baby,” Edd murmured.

Tom’s body was breaking down. His arms were trembling, thighs quivering and soaked with slick and sweat and tears. He was barely coherent, barely breathing, but Edd kept going.

Until — finally, finally — his rhythm faltered.

Edd groaned, deep and low in his chest, and then stilled.

Tom barely processed the warmth blooming inside him, that deep, molten release spilling into his already wrecked cunt. It filled him until it leaked, hot and slick and grounding.

All Tom could do was let his body collapse into the couch, boneless and wet and trembling.

And behind him, Edd leaned down, placing a kiss at the top of his spine. “You did so good, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice ragged and reverent.

Tom couldn’t even speak — just grunted quietly in response, overwhelmed and utterly fucked out.

Tom felt weak in every limb, like his bones had liquefied beneath the lingering tension in his muscles. His chest still rose and fell in rapid, shallow waves, heart thudding in his ribs like it hadn’t gotten the message that it was all over. His skin buzzed, flushed and sticky, hair clinging damply to his forehead.

Behind him, he felt Edd shift slightly—his warm body peeling away just enough to start pulling out. The slow, wet drag of it made Tom hiss involuntarily, a full-body flinch racking through him at the overstimulation.

“Christ,” he muttered into the pillow, voice hoarse and used-up.

Edd gave a breathy, almost smug laugh. “You’re welcome,” he teased.

And then came the obscene squelch as they fully separated, the sound almost cartoonish in the heavy quiet of the room. Tom flushed down to his neck, eyes wide in disbelief as he pushed himself up on wobbly forearms.

“Jesus, Edd…” he breathed, glancing over his shoulder with a look somewhere between exhausted and amazed. “Where the hell did you learn all that shit?”

Edd, still half-sprawled behind him with a contented glint in his eye, just shrugged, casual as ever. “I didn’t. I just figured I’d do whatever might help you calm the fuck down. Take your mind off all the other shit.” His mouth curved into a soft, self-satisfied smile.

Tom blinked at him. He had to think for a second about what "other shit" Edd was even referring to—whatever knot of anxiety and frustration had twisted his guts earlier now felt like a distant memory, the edges of it dulled and blurred beyond recognition.

“Well,” Tom said, sitting up with a tired groan as he carefully reached for his discarded underwear, “it fucking worked.”

He winced a little as the fabric dragged against sensitive skin, huffing in discomfort. A hot shower was rapidly climbing to the top of his priority list.

Edd sat up too, stretching with a yawn as he started tugging his own clothes back on, humming lightly under his breath. “You know…” he started, tossing Tom a look, “just say the word next time you’re spiraling. We can throw on a dumb movie, get under some blankets. Maybe cuddle a little. We can fuck again too, if you want.” His tone was teasing, but there was a softness under it—an openness that made the words feel less like a joke and more like a promise.

Tom let out a breathy laugh, smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. The idea of having someone like Edd—a reliable constant, someone who didn’t get scared off by the mess—was more comforting than he could say. Maybe even more than the sex itself.

“Stand-up guy,” Tom muttered as they got to their feet, Edd offering a steadying hand when Tom stumbled slightly. He took it, grateful.

They padded out into the hallway, bare feet muffled against the soft carpet. The soreness in Tom’s thighs made itself loudly known with every step, and he winced, adjusting his gait.

“Next time I’m picking what we cook,” he grumbled. “And maybe I’ll be the one running you ragged.”

Edd snorted, bumping his shoulder into Tom’s with an eye roll. “Yeah, okay, sure. You barely lasted a couple minutes before you started begging.”

Tom gasped in mock offense, elbowing Edd in the ribs. “Hey, it’s been a while, alright?” he sniffed dramatically. “Let a guy recover some dignity.”

“You’ll need a lot more than a shower for that,” Edd shot back, grinning.

They stepped into the bathroom, flicking on the overhead light. It cast a pale golden glow against the cool tile floor and foggy mirror. Tom leaned against the counter while Edd adjusted the water, turning the knobs until steam began curling up from the shower head.

Edd slapped a warm palm against Tom’s shoulder. “Alright, come on, you big baby. I’ll go easier on you next time.” He reached up to tousle Tom’s sweat-matted curls.

“Quit it—fuckin’ hands off,” Tom grumbled, swatting at him with no real malice. But his grin gave him away.

They stood there for a moment, the sound of rushing water filling the air, mist thickening between them like some gentle fog of calm.

Tom stared at their reflection in the mirror. Edd stood behind him, leaning a little to the side so their eyes met. His hair was a mess, lips pink and bitten, and that laid-back smile was still tugging at the edge of his mouth. Tom looked just as wrecked, eyes shadowed with exhaustion, face blotchy and flushed—but lighter somehow. Like the weight in his chest had eased a little.

Maybe a lot.

Tom sighed, but it wasn’t a frustrated one this time. He turned his head just enough to nudge his forehead against Edd’s shoulder. “Thanks,” he murmured.

Edd didn't say anything right away, just reached up and ran his fingers through the back of Tom’s damp hair, slow and grounding.

Tom could get used to this—the easiness. The quiet hum of safety. The absence of dread or guilt, no lingering shame or anxious buzzing. Just Edd and the warmth of a safe space carved out between them.

He didn’t need to get fucked up to handle his feelings anymore.

He had Edd.