Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey

 "Nice to know I can add a biting kink to the long list of fetishes you have."

"Noooo-" Shaking his head childishly, Tord closed his eyes, matted locks splaying over his flushed features as his face dipped into the plush material of his pillow. Huffing out a heavy sigh, he snorted tiredly, his slurred speech muffled as he mumbled a soft, "They're only hot because they belong to you."

It was spoken in a tilting, light tone that lingered with a vague annoyance only a snarky teenager could possess- filled to burst with an implied, dry eye roll and a spiteful undertone that screamed, "Duhhh."

"I support your Tomsexuality," Tom muttered, only half joking. 

"Tomsexual." Tord echoed, giggling slightly at the suggestion, "I like that." 

They sat there, basking in each other's presence- enjoying the silent appreciation of the warmth that they shared, both unwilling to let go as the other.

It seemed strange to think about, actually, that a few months ago they would have done anything to not be sharing the same space- disgusted by the mere suggestion that they breathed the same air. Over the course of a few heartstopping weeks; harsh bruises had blossomed into suckled hickies, hard glares slowly morphed into affectionate gazes- hearts that had once been burning with hatred, now sang to the same loving tune. 

Character development took time.

Everything seemed to be paying off.

As time crawled by, the shimmering silver depths of Tord's eyes grew more fluid, bright and somewhat alert in his steadily gaining spacial presence. Limbs grew strength, whatever morphine cocktail that had been pumping through his system finally waning off- the only thing to remain was the success of the operation and the drowsy wariness that settled heavly over his bones.

Turning his head to the side, he alerted Tom of his new gained cognitive abilities. 

"I see that you met Pat." Tord mumbled, gaze half-lidded, "How many new assholes did he rip you?"

"Like- eight."

"Ah. You've done fairly well then. He's the one that insisted that I shouldn't have met you in your cell, so I'm surprised that you're alive."

"Wow." Tom huffed, rolling his eyes dully, before putting on a fake, stereotypical teenage girl falsetto, "Get yourself a bae that only really sorta supports youuuuu."

"I do support you." Came a whispered grumble, hips shifting on the bed as they searched for a more comfortable position.

Silence hung over them for a second, not as tight or as uncomfortable as the others had been, but not as lovely and calming as it could have been. Something crawled down the back of his neck, skittering on numerous spindly legs, and he shivered before he really understood why. A sharp buzzing slowly leaked into his ears, barely audible under the monotonous hum of the heart rate monitor, scratching insistently like long sharp nails scraping against wood.

Really? Now?

"I do support you." 

"̶T̴o̶r̶d̵ ̷l̵o̶v̴e̵s̵ ̸y̶o̸u̷.̷"̶ ̷

Ah, right.

The beast was up to his good ol' tricks again.

Unsettled, Tom licked nervously at his lips, overly aware of the mirror-like quality of the blacked out window. Compellingly drawn to the reflective surface, he inconspicuously flickered his darkening gaze to the corner of the room, making sure to keep his head tilted in an innocent, unsuspecting manner, facing Tord as he barely spotted the faintest glimpse of a twisted, toothy grin.