Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

Thot, can you not

Running down the long, winding hallways of the compound was tiring in more ways than one.

Lacking an adequate amount of caffeine in his system, he was struggling to match Tord stride for stride as they practically sprinted down corridors, sweating and panting as he pumped his legs desperately. Bare feet slapping against the tile, the tight confines of his newly acquired booty shorts became even more of a burden, the stretched fabric across his crotch and thighs were pulled particularly taunt, clinging roughly to his skin as he flailed forward.

"Should I even ask you why you even own these?" Tom breathed, flashing a quirked, ironic grin.

"No!" Tord answered quickly, a huffing smile lingering on his face.

Thundering footsteps and screaming laughter probably wasn't the best way to wake up the rest of the members of the Red Army- from experience, Tom knew all too well of the unbridled rage and pulsing sadness that rocked his system when Edd and Matt decided to talk too loudly by his room before noon. Lengthy stares and low, bitter whispers was a tame reaction in comparison to the absolute tidal wave of chaotic emotion that he had released on his unsuspecting friends.

That didn't stop his flesh from crawling at the thought of being on the receiving end of those dark, judging eyes.

A corner appeared before them, and they rounded it, yelps of surprise spilling past their lips as they smacked into each other. Bumping hips, they side-eyed each other, equally knowing how much they were acting like flirty teenagers and not caring a single bit of how much of a racket they were making in the process.

Righting themselves, they shoved each other out of the way; goofy, tongue biting grins firmly in place as they squealed towards a dead end. Catching a glimpse at the large, rectangle sign posted on the bland wall, Tom quickened his step, pacing past the illuminated, bold text.

'HOSPITAL WING'

Stuffy, wooden doors lined the walls, each displaying a name tag- supposedly belonging to the different doctors that lurked within. Swinging his arms, Tom punched Tord in the side lightly, teasingly, "I have no idea where we're going! You have the home advantage!"

Smirking, Tord nudged him back with an elbow, "So? What are you going to do about it?"

Glaring, Tom chose not to answer, biting his lip as he mentally totalled up the rising sexual tension.

Maybe they really were teenagers again.

Gaining on the end of the hallway, Tom winced, grimacing his teeth as he attempted to slow down. Wobbling on his feet, the scraping appendage made a screeching squeak as he skidded to a rounded stop.

Unbalanced, Tord stumbled, colliding with the doorframe, snickering breathlessly as Tom smacked into his back. Panting heavily, Tord shook his head, light brown locks flying in all directions as he readjusted himself.

Placing a palming on his heaving chest, Tom uttered a quick, "That was obviously a draw."

Snorting in response, Tord gave a few rapid knocks to the wood, knuckles rapping loudly- almost echoing throughout the complex. When receiving no acknowledgement, he swung the door open anyway, shrugging carelessly.

Squinting, Tom gave the name tag a customary skim.

Dr George McIntyre