Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

Fuck me, daddy

Breath caught in his throat, Tom could only stare, eyes wide and jaw slack open. A bright dusting of scarlet hovered hotly over his cheeks, lips red and plump from the abuse. They tingled, standing starkly against the cold temperature.

Despite being overly violent, and bloody; full of sharp, scraping teeth and bitter, almost bruising pressure; he felt surprisingly light. A sense of belonging and completeness rushed through his veins, spreading across his body with every throb of his rapidly pounding heart. Every nerve seemed to be set alight, filled with an overwhelming excitable energy, thrumming pleasantly as he trembled.

Dressed in drag, on the run from a dangerous drug ring, lips bitten and with Tord's taste on his tongue- he had truly never felt so alive before. Spending his life as a bitter and hollow man, a shell of the person he could have been- almost seemed worth it. It was almost as if his entire existence had been a precursor to this one grand moment.

Everything that they were; both as individual people, and as a collective had been a product of every past interaction that they had unknowingly used to fuel the flames of their connection. Every punch, every argument, every break and every reconcile- had led them up to this.

Tightening his grip on Tord's clothing, Tom groaned lowly in his throat, huffing heavily out of his nose.

No one was allowed to take him away.

Tord was his.

And no matter what anyone said or did would ever change that.

Possessiveness welled up from his core, coiling eerily easily with the still prowling, foaming beast that clawed insistently at his insides. Torn between the writhing sense of wrongness that flared from the apparent enjoyment of his inner demon, and the immense feeling of right that came from the clear acknowledgement of the building relationship between the both of them, Tom mentally flailed. Unsure whether to rip himself away from the others anchoring, secure touch or to sink deeper into the strong, spicy scent of Tord's musk.

"Tom?" His voice came out rough, and slightly out of breath; blending enticingly well with the thickness of his accent.

Tom shuddered.

Pupils flickering, Tord observed him for a second, before pushing him away by the shoulders. Taking a few paces backwards, he squinted, head tilted to the side as he observed the shaking man.

Seeing Tord retreat from his presence, Tom internally panicked- a loud screech vibrating inside of his head, echoing harshly off of his skull. Immediately surging towards him, he squeezed his fists into the soft fabric of his hoody, twisting the cloth in his desperation.

"Don't leave." He managed to croak out, every inch of his being rattled from the lack of second-hand body warmth seeping into his skin.

"I'm not- I won't." Tord frowned, thoughts whirling, "I just need to get the car-"

Watching him mutely, Tom didn't say anything. He didn't even hear what the other man had said- instead, he had sent his sights on the soft curvature of his lips, the way in which they would quirk up attractively as he talked.

Or, more specifically, he silently tracked the slowly oozing wound that bubbled up from his top lip, a thin trail of blood smearing across his face as it trickled lazily.

Feeling as though he had no control over his limbs, a proverbial puppet to his deeper, depraved thoughts- he reached up with a gentle hand, caressing the pink flesh of his cheek tenderly, rubbing soothing circles with the pad of his thumb. 

Humming in response, Tord relaxed slightly, the tension in his shoulders ceasing under the soft administrations. Smiling faintly, he uttered, "As much as I'd love to kiss you more- it really is the best idea to leave before they can track our location."

Again, Tom gave no response, off in his own little world. Thoroughly entranced, he pulled at the skin, watching as the bite mark stretched, welling up more of the gore that leaked into the textured cracks of his face. 

A thought bubbled up from his pleasantly empty mind.

Consume.

It was whisper soft, long black entrails that crept from the corner of his vision, tone suggestable and mock trustful.

Bond.

Running his tongue over the ridges of teeth marks left branding his lips, he gulped audibly as he cocked his head to the side, heart pounding dully in his chest as he stretched up, bouncing lightly on his tiptoes as he lapped at the trail.

Mine.

"What the fuck-" Tord breathed, tangling his fingers into the back of Tom's dress, knuckles white in the death grip, "Tom I- No, you really shouldn't-" 

Purring contently, Tom hushed him, sucking at his mouth pleasurably. Running his lips heatedly over the wound, he swallowed thickly, loving the sick little flicker of control he had gained. Meeting very little resistance- or at least, ignoring whatever struggling was taking place with his intended prey, he continued on, doing his best to stimulate more of the blood flow. By being this close, he could sense everything- every flutter of Tord's pulse, every hitch in breath, every shiver of arousal. 

He smirked.

Gasping, Tord held on, moving his head to the side, "This is the second worst situation to get a boner." 

Seemingly satisfied, Tom leaned back, the distinctive twang of copper staining the walls of his throat. 

Not really knowing as to why, but he felt calmer now- at peace even, not as frenzied, not as irritable- all the little annoying emotions that once knocked his perception of the world had simply disappeared. 

Where had they gone?

Puzzled, he squinted warily. 

"What would be the first worst situation to get a boner?" 

"Probably with a gun to my head," Tord answered smoothly, fingering the wet patch left behind, "Have- have you done, have you finished?" 

Tom nodded, throwing in an uncaring shrug for good measure.

"Good- because you just singlehandedly  fucked me over for life."  

—
A/N: I drew the art for this chapter- the only way I know which chapter this cane out of is the fact that it's the most liked (y'all like fake blowjobs, dang).

I already hate it. Ew.