things i write when im bored

thom yorke's praise kink

wuh woh, thom's got a praise kink! are you even surprised? i know i'm not.

(fyi: im not going to be using the proper punctuation when i type and itll all be lowercase because i dont feel like doing that kinda labour rn. if that bothers you.. wait, why would that bother you?)

story starts NOW!! ::)

thom finishes violently playing his guitar and swings his head up to look at you as he sweeps a bit of his now, messy hair off of his face and sweat that was crawling down it, getting nearly giddy in the process.

"so, how was that?"

he says to you and sits down on the bed next to you, breathing heavily.

"that was amazing! but.."

you put your hand up to your chin as you struggle to say this in a way that'll come out right, thom is a pretty sensitive person and doesn't respond to things well if he thinks it's at all negative.

"but, dont you think youll get dizzy or even dizzier if you keep playing like this? i mean, i saw the way you staggered."

thom sighs and rests his guitar on his lap, looking displeased with this response.

"its how i perform better, so dont worry about it."

"but i am worried. and im serious, okay? you dont have to assault the damn thing as youre playing it."

you pause for a moment, a little frustrated with him.

"and if you keep it up, youre probably going to end up breaking it. stop being so ROUGH with it!"

thom gives you a dismissing hand.

"alright.. quit shouting at me. i hate when you raise your voice."

you look at him, about to say something else but you stop talking and just stare as you realize how tired — no, exhausted he looks.

"im sorry, i didnt mean to.."

you try to find a word to use after that, but youre unable to so you just sit there with a slight frown showing on your face.

thom glances at you as he leans against the headboard, putting his head against the wall. he seems to be resting but, right now? in such a strange position?

"hey, out of curiosity, if youre going to sleep.. why dont you just lay down?

"mmm.. well, i kinda dont want to." the brit says in somewhat.. irritation?

"whats wrong?"

a sigh escapes your lips after he doesn't answer you and you realize he's probably still upset about what you said to him.

"..please understand that i was just trying to give you som advice. i honestly get concerned for you, seeing you play like that."

"why? why would you be concerned for me? i mean. i can handle myself. i wouldnt do anything that'd push myself."

"but with the way you were moving i thought you were gonna fall over any minute."

"stop worrying about me, alright? im a grown man."
he speaks to you in a cold tone, his irritation getting even clearer now.

"im sorry, okay? you did really good. i just let my troubles take over. that was some of the best guitar playing i've heard, which may or may not mean much to you as i havent heard a lot of people play guitar in my life.."