Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

The most romantic man in the universe

"You're twenty seconds away from having your dick shot off. I would think very carefully about your next sentence if I were you." The words were growled low, vibrating from deep within his chest.

Tom shivered and squirmed, not really knowing what to do with his hands. Every minute movement caused him to unwittingly grind his crotch down onto Tord's knee, causing him to wince as a faint ebb of pleasure coiled in his abdomen. Mentally floundering for words that didn't exist, he trembled. Clenching his hands intermittently by his sides, hoping for some sort of a distraction, feeling the slight pull of the glass shards still embedded in his flesh.

Completely lost within the tight foreign heat, the solidness around him, and the blanket of musk that engulfed his senses. Tom's head spun- either due to the lack of breathing room, the unyielding chokehold, or the fact that his body didn't know whether to send more of his blood to his hot scarlet face or downwards towards his dick.

Fuck, had Tord always smelt that good?

From the angle in which he was pinned, only a couple of tantalising inches were separating his face from the neat crease of Tord's throat. The need to bury his face and feel the rhythmic fluttering of his pulse against his lips become greater the longer he stared, mouth almost drooling at the thought of getting closer to the thick, masculine scent. 

Gasping, he struggled to restrain himself. Now was really not the time to face his newfound apparent gayness. He never imagined that he would start his 'college experimentation' phase whilst being threatened behind a bar with bodily harm.

Oddly fitting, now that he had thought about it.

Steeling himself was proving to be a very difficult task, however. 

He felt like he was drowning.

His silence only seemed to make Tord impossibly angrier, irritated snorts of breath huffed loudly by his ear.  

"Thomas." It took him up to now to realise he wasn't the only one that was shaking, "Have you forgotten English since the last time I saw you? Or is Russian more of your thing now?"

Mouth gaping, Tom finally started to struggle out a reply, "I have absolutely no fucking idea what's happening right now."

"Don't give me any of that bullshit." The hands wrapped around his throat tightened in warning, "How long do you really think you could get away with pulling this shit?"

Croaking, he grimaced, "Pulling what? Wearing dresses? Are you so disgusted that-"

Tord cut him off by pushing him harder against the rough brick, "Are you that stupid? Out of everything you and your shitty little gang have done, you think I give a single fuck about your cross dressing?!"

Frustrated in every possible way, Tom all but screamed, "Can you stop with the vague, cryptic bullshit? If you're going to kill me via blue balls, the least you could do is exposition properly!"

"Wha-" Tord paused, deathly still. His eyes were squinted in concentration, "You're- you're hard."

Seemingly mystified, Tord moved his knee, rubbing against his dick with a firm, probing pressure. It was like he had only just noticed that he was grinding another guys cock.

Tom didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Good job the grip around his neck mostly stopped both of those reactions- it really would have killed the mood. He definitely was not going to end his first gay experience by laughing at the guy for giving him a boner.

"Yes?" It came out like a question, even though it didn't have much business being one.

Tord pulled back, hands lightening their grasp, face tight in confusion. His pupils shook gently, side to side, as he bit his lips in thought.

"This- this is a trick. Another distraction." It ended in a fake shaky laugh, "You can be really dedicated-"

Tom all but growled. Digging his clawed hands into the meat of Tord's biceps, he threw his full body weight against his chest. Using the confusion to his advantage, he swiftly switched their positions, leaning in close to buck his hips against Tord's clothed crotch.

Tord was hard too.

They both moaned. Tom sank his burning face in the hollow of Tord's throat, panting as they clasped onto each other tightly.

"The only thing I'm dedicated to is getting your dick." Tom mouthed the words against soft skin, eyes half-lidded. "I have no idea what you're accusing me of, so you're going to have to stop swapping personalities every time you see me." 

Hearing Tord's breathing hitch, he looked up. He looked just about as wrecked as Tom felt; cheeks tinted a fine rosy pink, pulse erratic, eyes unfocused, dizzy. 

If that wasn't an accomplishment, he didn't know what was. 

"This is a very bad idea." Tord stumbled out, somewhat reluctantly, "I should know better than this."

Stomach twisting itself into painful knots, Tom felt his heart sink into a pit in his chest. A pressure built up behind his eyes.

Fuck, maybe he was going to cry.

"But." They stared at each other for a bit longer, feeling every second that ticked by, "I think I believe you."

Blinking owlishly, "Huh?"

That didn't sound like a rejection.

Tord smacked his lips, "You really don't know what's happening, do you?"

He shook his head.

Suddenly, Tord started laughing. His chest shaking up and down, jostling Tom as he wheezed. Tears built up in his eyes as he brought a hand to cover his mouth, "Only you!"

Tom paused and pulled back, concerned. Brow furrowed, he quipped an uneasy smile. 

So maybe both laughing and crying were on the table.

"Only me what?"

Slowly, Tord came down from his hysteria. A few odd chuckles escaped him as he wiped at the stains that had trickled down his cheeks with a heavy hand. Sighing deeply, a smirk of abstract disbelief painted itself across his features.

"Only you would be stupid enough to accidentally recruit yourself into a Russian drug ring." 

—

A/N: 

"Am I writing porn on a park bench?"

...

..

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"Oh my god, I'm writing porn on a park bench!"

-and other Evan things

Ahh yes, I'd like to call my biography, "a personal apology" buy it whilst capitalism lasts *finger guns*