Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

What the fuck, Richard

Heart slithering up the narrow windings of his dry throat, it threatened to burst out of the tight confines of his mouth, twitching insistently in his weighted, heavy tongue. Empty black sockets squinted slightly in bizarre disbelief, the deep grooves of lines that marked the exhaustion bruised flesh reflecting the cosmic despair that frothed in his core. Lips pressed into a thin neutral line, they were pursed into a tight crease of dark amusement, moisture welling up at the corners of his eyes as his mouth wobbled.

Silently watching as the other man whined helplessly, wriggling lethargically in the starchy sheets, he mentally screeched to the metaphorical, intergalactic lord's above, feverishly questioning as to why he was always placed into inane situations like this.

No reply came forth, of course. Which was the usual response to his bitter existential crises. Spiteful, cruel silence was all he ever got, which always either reaffirmed his insignificance as a person or niggled at the back of his paranoia, expectant of some form of abstract punishment.

Gods don't answer.

They never do.

Pretentious assholes.

"Tommmm!" Came the long, drawn-out whine, crackling dryly as a curled fist was thumped tiredly into the mattress, "Vær oppmerksom på meg!"

With a distant snort, Tom leaned over, tightening his grip on the limp hand, and cupping the opposite shoulder with a gentle grasp, pushing him back down. Shaking his head at the increased wiggling under his insistent palm, he clicked his tongue sharply, breathing in deeply, slowly.

Babysitting an intoxicated, power-hungry psychopath was not in his job description.

Come to think of it; what was in his job description?

"Can you chill?" Tom frowned, chewing at the inside of his cheek, brows creasing in thought, "Is there something wrong? Can you speak English, please, I don't understand-"

Huffing heavily, Tord puffed out his cheeks, looking every inch of an annoyed, neglected child. With a soft, high pitched whimper, he grunted roughly, clearing his throat, muscles visibly churning under the skin. Smacking his lips, he ground out his jaw, grinding his teeth as he attempted to force his lips to form the faraway words.

"Tom- I... Trenge- you?"   Voice wobbling, it sounded like a question. Obviously frustrated with his own lack of communication skills, he thrashed his head from side to side once again, overly violent in his movements, "Need." 

Hovering over the quivering body, Tom felt his concern fizz and bubble up in his chest, his heart giving an almost painful throb as he struggled to piece together a puzzle he didn't have the reference to. 

Thinking quickly, he squeezed his eyes shut, a heavy blush spreading across his features as he slowly lowered his upper torso. Heated face coming to rest on top of Tord's, he smothered his nose in the thick locks of soft brown hair, tickling at the corners of his rosy cheeks, inhaling the oddly combined scent of bleach and the other's natural musk. Being extra mindful of the numerous wires coiled around his midsection, Tom painstakingly rested his arm against the swell of his ribs, hugging close as he muttered soft utterances of comfort.

He had parental instincts up the ass. 

"It's okay," He hushed, lips curling into a hidden, embarrassed smile, "I'm here- you're safe. Everything is fine." 

Gradually, Tom felt the tension release from Tord's clamped form, the strange stiffness fading away as relaxation slowly oozed out of his slack bones. A happy hum erupted from below his face, and he felt the soft vibrations tingle at his lips, mirroring his own contentedness.