Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

Sexual harassment in the workplace? It's more likely than you think

But recently, that had been different.

Being apathetic to his own destructive habits, and enjoying the view of personal property being demolished before his eyes was a hell of a lot different than actively going out with the desire to disfigure anything that came across his path. The two levels were distinct; the difference between an excitable hellraiser and a full-blown psychopath. 

Lately, the lines seemed more blurred than they were before.

Repressed rage sizzled at the back of his consciousness, slowly becoming more of an influence on his day to day decisions, getting worse as the weeks slogged by. Unable to fully stop the spreading weighed greatly on his paranoia and the dread that he held for the day that he would do something that he would surely regret crept ever closer. 

Like now. 

Facing away from Cherri, his pulse spiked, humming hotly against his throat. Deciding that moving far away from the root of most of his problems was probably better than the gorey alternative that he had in mind, he turned sharply on his heel. Choosing to walk away, and to clear his head with some inoffensive, mindless chatter- he fought to bury every single niggling thought that dared to speak up.      

It was a shame that he forgot he was still the universe's bitch.

Nothing calmed his explosive, unbridled anger than being slammed face first into Ivan's broad, manly chest.

 "Ah, Tamara!" Tilting his chin downwards, the Russian gave a large friendly smile that didn't quite meet his eyes, "Just the gal I wanted to see!"

"Oh?" Tom smiled lightly. It was strained, obviously so, crinkling uncomfortably at the edges of his mouth as he internally screamed, "Why would that be, Master Ivan?"

Ivan glanced around, gaze shifting in a fake conspiratorial fashion. Cupping a hand to his grinning face, he leaned closer, stage whispering, "Nuh, uh! I can't tell you here, Princess! It's a secret- something special, for you. You wouldn't want to make the other girls jealous now, would we?"  

Something sank in his stomach, unsure if it was his heart, soul or a ten-tonne weight that suddenly, inexplicitly existed just for that one moment. Flesh taking on a sickly, greenish hue, he sweated lightly, eyes widening in panic.

"Always stay in public." 

"Where would we go for my- my special surprise?" Unbeknownst to him, he had dropped the fake, feminine voice long ago in the conversation, various other thoughts breaking his act.

"Avoid the back." 

Ivan didn't seem to care in the slightest, "Oh, I'm sure that we could find somewhere- if we act quickly, we might be able to sneak into the back for some private time." 

"If someone tries to drag you off somewhere private; refuse and make a scene." 

Gulping, Tom openly blanched, quickly stepping away from the oppressive, towering presence, "Sir, I don't think that's allowed-"

"Nonsense! What the others don't know won't hurt them." A large hand wrapped itself around Tom's hip, gripping harshly in warning, contrasting grossly with the beaming, charming smile curled confidently on his thin lips.

Squeaking, he hesitated, frantically mulling over a few thousand irrelevant excuses before setting on the truth. Or rather, whatever contained his version of the truth.  

Biting his lip, Tom raised his hands neutrally in a silent surrender, "Look, man, I don't want to fight."

"Neither do I." Grunted Ivan roughly, looking him up and down for a second, before flashing him a slow, teasing wink, "Unless we're covered in lube and you're on the bottom, of course."

Wow.

And he thought that Tord had weird kinks.

Working his mouth open, Tom could only choke, face red as he struggled to even stutter coherently.

"Tamara!"

Hearing Tord's growling, deep voice caused a small excitable jolt to shoot down his spine, his heart twisting itself into strange (and probably, not medically advised) knots. Relief swelled with his core, causing a smile to grace his features.

Finally.

A familiar strong, calloused hand encircled his wrist, tugging him forward in a tight, secure grip, "Tamara, there's a family emergency; uncle Bob had a heart attack and we need to see him. Immediately." 

Tom couldn't look away if he tried, ensnarled by that bright, silver stare. It seemed that Tord had the same reaction, keeping his stern, serious gaze locked on his face. Being this close allowed him to see the finer, subtle details that he was usually too far away, or too unobservant to see before- how expressive they were, swirling with uncapped emotions, mixing beautifully with the small specks of green that littered around his pupil.

Swallowing audibly, Tom felt his breath hitch. 

Had Tord always looked at him like he was the only person in the room?

How could he have missed that before?

—
A/N: It's officially holiday time! I'm currently typing away on my phone in the car, writing some of that 👌🏻 good 👌🏻 gay shit 👌🏻 whilst sitting next to my homophobic father

Heck yeah

I'm not sure if I can keep up the regular every day upload schedule whilst away, but I'll diddly darn try.