Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

Dollar store dank kush

He had never looked so small.

As though pulled towards the unconscious figure with invisible, puppet-like strings, he seemingly glided across the neat wooden flooring, stopping to take a seat on the small fold up chair that lay abandoned by the bedside. Perching on the edge, shuffled into a comfortable position, eyes locked on the other's open face, chewing at the inside of his cheek as he absorbed the moment. 

He was almost afraid to touch him. 

Instinctively, Tom reached out and cradled the limp hand with gentle, hesitant fingers, curling their digits together in a onesided hold. Running his thumb against the soft flesh, he breathed deeply, a weight slowly releasing from his heavy lungs, absorbing the comforting warmth and weight that came with being alive. 

Safe.

Whole.

H o m e.

Playing absentmindedly with the heavy limb, he smiled softly, cheeks oddly warm against the cool, clinical air. Happy lines crinkled at the edges of his eyes gaze heavy as he calmed. With the steady beat of Tord's pulse thumping through his touch and echoing in his ears, his problems didn't seem so big anymore.

Almost manageable, in a way.

Almost. 

Humming a nameless tune, he leaned back further in his chair, hearing it creak dangerously as he lightly moved. Dragging his fixated stare, he slowly brought it up past the organic crook of his elbow, across the wide heavy set shoulders, and firmly placing it on the other arm.

"Oh." He breathed quietly, the gasp falling from his lips as though by accident, "Wow." 

Sleek and shiny, the artificial appendage seemed to glow slightly under the brightness of the lights, heavily cut with assumingly purposeful blue grooves, the neat squared lines breaking up the monotony of the heavy red plastic. Fingers thick, the joints were moulded to be obviously visible, seemingly stiff in its freshly new state- a blue circle orb sat in the middle of the large palm, deeply rooted and bubbling up from the smooth surface like an intrusion.

What was its purpose?

Attached to the raw, scar streaked skin, various bandages wrapped around the separation mark, hiding the gorgeous connection between the warm flesh of the living, and the stony harshness of machine. 

Beautiful, Tom croaked silently, you're beautiful. 

Engrossed in his awed fascination, he only vaguely noticed the way Tord's face scrunched up, an odd collection of slurs tumbled from his unpracticed lips as he smacked his unwilling tongue uncoordinatedly.

"Hva i helveteeeeeeee."   

Thoroughly surprised, a yelp left Tom before he knew what was actually happening- quickly snapping his attention to the other man's face. 

Heavy lids cracked open, a hint of dull grey peeking out of the slanted slits. Glazed over in an unfocused haze, they seemed clouded over in a thick fog, the usual swirling depths appearing near lifeless as they stared straight at him, wide pupils twitching lightly as they flickered their fleeting attention. Blinking sluggishly, he opened his mouth clumsily, "Du er søt." 

"Huh?" Furrowing his brow, Tom crinkled his nose of confusion. 

Was Tord really talking to him in Norwegian? 

"What? Tord?" Leaning closer, he squinted in concentration, trying to pick out random phrases he had heard before.

Coughing lightly, Tord cleared his throat, grinning sleepily wide with a heavy pink tint swallowing his bunched cheeks, "Tommmm~." 

Even more bewildered, Tom quirked an uncertain eyebrow, "Yes?" 

"You're pretty." 

It was spoken so plainly- the deep Norwegian accent rough and crackling slightly from the dryness of his bobbing throat, wrapped in a tone of unfiltered sincerity that left him trembling from the emotional weight of the honest words.

"Okay." He whispered instead, neither accepting nor denying the compliment. Embarrassment welled up in his core, matching nicely with the flames that lapped at the sides of his face, "Are you alright?" 

Tord's expression crumbled again, eyes squinting as he fruitlessly attempted to shift his body. Wriggling uselessly, a long childish whine erupting from the grimacing mouth, slapping and kicking his limbs against the mattress with a lumbering flop. Tilting his head back on the pillows dramatically, a pout twisted at the edges of his lips.

"Heavy!" He groaned, looking over at Tom as though he held all the unwavering answers to his problems, thrashing half-heartedly, "M'can't move." 

To prove his point, Tord made a show of trying to lift his new robotic limb, grunting loudly from the heavy effort. 

Silent, Tom watched the strange scene unfold with a detached look of disbelief, willing his brain to connect the scattered pieces for him. 

Oh my stars, Tom mentally screeched, Tord is high off his tits.

--

A/N: Tom gets more and more autistic as I write. Self-indulgence is a k i n k 

"Hva i helveteeeeeeee." - "What the fuckkkkkkkkk."   

  "Du er søt." - "You're cute."

My wifey is back with another gorgeous art piece! This is the third one gifted to me by @OliverFlores01and it's as amazing as all the others

Love ya <3333