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“Uno!”
Tord says as he tosses a green 5 card on the floor with a bit more force than he should have. He can barely contain his excitement now. Victory is at his fingertips, and whoever wins gets to “punish” the loser— that is the rule. He hopes it would be Tom.
“Stop that, you look creepy.”
Tom grumbles. As he does, Tord realizes he has been grinning ear to ear for at least 10 seconds straight, eyes glazed over a bit, even, as he imagines all the things he would make his friends do once he wins. Something he knows they would hate, or is funny, whichever goes.
He also realizes that it is his turn. As he has predicted, they didn’t (or rather, couldn’t) make any attempt to impede his victory. So he gently lays down his final card, brushes his hands together as if dusting them off, and leans back slightly, his grin even bigger now.
“I win.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Edd scoffs “You take this too seriously, man. It’s kinda cringe.”
Does he? Even so, is that necessarily a bad thing? He likes winning.
“How do you always win at Uno?” Matt said, exasperated.
Well, they’re using Tord’s old Uno deck, and he knows the way each card frays at the edges and the little scratches and indents on their backs so well to the point of being able to read the others’ hands with near-perfect accuracy. Tord wonders when his friends are going to finally notice it.
“I’m just that good, I guess.”
The game continues for 5 more minutes.
It’s down to Matt and Tom now. The latter looks positively freaked out as he struggles to relieve himself of his cards while his opponent keeps picking up one plus four after another, seemingly out of sheer luck. Every once in a while, he would dart his eyes towards Tord nervously, then back to his cards again, brows furrowed and lips drawn into a straight line. It really doesn’t help that Tord’s the victor, and they both know it.
But Tom’s going to lose. That much is clear, no matter how hard he fights. Alas, Matt dispatches his last card with an excited yelp while the other smacks his deck onto the ground, defeated.
“Is it over finally?” Edd looks up from his comic book, which he has picked up from one of the piles strewn across the living room carpet.
The coffee table has been moved aside so that the four of them could sit on the floor in front of the TV. Tord has his back against the sofa— his favorite position, while Tom sits to his left, that is until he shifted to be face-to-face with Matt in their final showdown. Meanwhile, Edd lies on his stomach to the side, his feet up in the air.
“Who lost?” He sits up.
“Tom!” Matt beams.
“Me.”
“Are you ready for your punishment, Tom?”
Tom rolls his eyes. Anyone but him, he seems to be thinking. Tord chuckles. He mentally flips through the punishments he has come up with: he can make Tom chug a concoction of sodas and hot sauce, or pet the neighbor’s monstrously huge dog, or eat his own toenail. Anything would do.
As he was pondering to himself, though, a new idea pops into his head, and his mouth opens before he could think any further.
“Go wear one of my mom’s dresses.”
“What?”
“Upstairs, first room to the right. Just go through her closet until you find something you like. Make sure it’s a dress, though. Or I’ll make you go back up again.”
Tord can feel blood rushing to his face. Ordering Tom around always makes him so giddy, not that he gets to do it a lot. What really does it for him is seeing Tom’s face twists with annoyance; he’s always so reactive, fun to poke at. Matt and Edd are also giggling now.
“Why?”
“Why not? Are you scared?”
Tom rolls his eyes again. He stands up and walks towards the stairway. “Ugh, fine.” His voice trails off.
The three resume with their game while Tom is away, though Tord is taking it easy this round, letting Edd bombard him with plus fours and reversal cards. Playing with half a mind.
He thinks of his mother’s walk-in closet, of how he rarely ever sees her repeat an outfit, and of the times he himself went rummaging through her clothes out of sheer boredom. His mother’s got a good fashion sense, he can give her that. Tord wonders which dress Tom’s going to pick.
Tom’s taking an awfully long time, isn’t he.
By the time his footsteps can be heard approaching the living room, they have managed to play 3 more rounds and are getting tired of Uno.
“Hey.” Tom said, accompanied by the sound of shuffling fabric. He stands awkwardly in the doorway, a dubious expression on his face.
Edd bursts out laughing. “You’re pulling this off, Tom! Looks great on ya.” He elbows Matt, who starts laughing too. But Tord could only stare.
Tom has picked out a white silk dress with spaghetti straps and a bodice that ends just above the navel, loosely hugging his ribcage. The dress itself is mid-length, its hem brushing on Tom’s shin a couple centimeters below his knees. The material’s light enough that Tord could make out the faint contours of Tom’s hips from the way the fabric falls on them.
It’s Tom in a dress, alright. He looks ridiculous, but Tord can’t bring himself to laugh.
“Give us some poses!” Matt hollers. Tom complies, sarcastically twirls around, popping his hips and putting his hand on his waist, imitating the models he would sometimes see on TV or in his mom’s fashion magazines, all the while the others cheers and claps. He chuckles a little, then comes over and plops down next to Tord with a floof.
At this angle, Tord notices that the zipper’s not all the way up. He could see now how half-heartedly the dress hangs on Tom’s figure. It makes sense—Tord’s mother is a rather petite woman. It’s only natural that her dress doesn’t fit Tom well, so that when he bends forward to collect the cards Edd (who is snickering, still) has dealt him, the zipper slips further down, exposing his bare back. Tord finds himself staring a second too long at the way his friend’s shoulder blades ebb gently while he gathers the cards and rearranges them, still hunched over, his elbows nearly touching the floor.
“You’re dead, Tord.” Tom smirks. He sits back up.
“O-oh, uhm. Am I?”
“Yes. I’ll have my revenge.”
But Tord isn’t particularly concerned with the game right now. In fact, he doesn’t even know what to feel or think.
The next few minutes were a blur.
Tord was practically playing on auto-pilot, so when he puts down a green six to Edd’s blue eight, the other shoots him a puzzled look.
“What’s up with you, dude?”
“No, nothing. I’m just…”
He’s just thinking about Tom’s bare back and how he had to strip himself to put on the dress, so there’s probably nothing but boxers down there. Then, unable to help himself, Tord imagines his friend wearing panties like girls do. It can even be the frilly, lacey type like in the porn magazines Tord hides under his bed.
His dick perked up.
He can tell it likes that thought. The moment it started to form, it was as if a lightning bolt has struck his crotch.
Tord shifts abruptly and uncomfortably, pressing his thighs together.
“No but seriously, something’s clearly up.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Tord’s been acting weird since Tom got back” Matt chimes in.
Tom doesn’t say anything.
It’s his turn, so he draws a card.
Tord doesn’t even know why he’s having such thoughts. He can’t believe he’s actually turned on by Tom. Tord’s not gay, he’s only ever jerked off to girls, real or not. He likes boobs and pussies— he’s sure of it.
But when it’s Tom’s turn once again and he throws down his card with an exaggerated swing of his arm, causing one of the straps to slip off his bare shoulder, Tord felt like dying.
“Um, Tom. Your…”
“My what?”
“Nevermind.”
Tord stands up, hunched over, thighs still pressed tight.
“Imma go piss.”
“Wait, what? But we’re still playin—“
Tord doesn’t hear the rest of Edd’s protests. He bolts to the ground-floor restroom and locks the door behind him. Forehead pressed against cold ceramic tile, Tord yanks down his pants and starts rubbing his cock to the point of hurting. He spills all over his fingers, feeling light-headed.
The next half-hour Tord spent slumped on the toilet seat, hand over his eyes, not thinking about anything deliberately. Only comes out once he feels able to be in the presence of other human beings again.
He’s a little hungry now, so Tord heads for the kitchen. As he passes by the living room, he sees that Edd and Matt are on the couch, watching TV. Tom’s nowhere in sight, so Tord guesses he’s upstairs to change back into his own clothes. The Tord of one-and-a-half hour ago would have made him wear it all night, but it doesn’t matter now. Tord helps himself to a piece of ham and some crackers.
“Hey, Tord.”
Tord snaps his head back. It’s Tom, still in the dress.
“Can we raid your parents’ alcohol?”
“No. They’ll beat my ass. Why are you still wearing that?”
“Why not? I don’t mind it.”
What exactly does he mean by that? Is he some kind of pervert? Though Tord isn’t much better given what he just did.
“I kinda like it. I like how the wind blows between my legs.”
“…You’re joking.”
“I’m not. Well maybe I am a little. But I really don’t mind it.”
“…”
“Plus, it’s fun to see you so bothered.” Tom says with a smirk.
So he did notice after all. Tord knows Tom was being a little too quiet back there.
“Screw this, I’m going back.” Tord clicks his tongue.
“Hold on. What were you doing in the toilet anyway? You were in there for, like, half an hour.”
“Took a big fucking piss. What else.”
Tord doesn’t like that Tom’s really getting on his nerves now. It should be the other way around. He wants to wipe that smirk off of Tom’s face. So he opens his mouth.
“…Actually, I was jerking off.”
“Wha…..”
“I imagined you in that dress, wearing panties and stuff, looking all girly. Then I came really fucking hard.”
Ah, it worked alright. Tord is mortified and wishes a hole would open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole, but it was worth it to see Tom’s expression twists into something between confusion and disgust. Maybe.
“…Oh. Okay.”
Tom speaks up after a couple seconds of excruciating silence.
“So you’re, like, gay or something?”
“Says the guy who doesn’t mind wearing a dress.”
“I don’t think that’s the sa— dude, you jerked off to me!”
“Yeah? And so what?”
So maybe he’s a little gay. For Tom, no less. And then what? What should he do with that information? Tord tries to banish the thought, throw it aside before it takes roots and transforms him into something unrecognizable. But as he stares at Tom, quizzical expression on his face and head cocked to the side, his left eyebrow piercing glinting under the kitchen’s fluorescent lamps, he finds that it may be difficult.
“Whatever, man.”
Tom scoffs and walks off.
Tord stands still for a bit before following after Tom as he returns to the living room once more.