Complete Again (TomTord Mpreg)

Two

Tord couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. His head was pounding, and his body was burning. Dirt and dust was everywhere - it went in through his nose and mouth and filled his lungs, drowning him with ash. His mouth was dry, and he could taste a familiar metallic liquid dribbling into his mouth, choking him as it filled his throat. His ears rang almost deafeningly loud.

Everything was still black.

He couldn't scream. He wanted to, but he couldn't force his body to cooperate.

Is this what it's like to die in an explosion?

Oddly enough, Tord wasn't as scared of death as he thought he would be. To be frank, death would likely feel better than this. His lungs felt like sandbags, and his throat felt raw, like he had been screaming. Had he? He couldn't hear himself over the sirens and buzzers of the robot before it was destroyed.

He coughed, the taste of metal becoming more intense as the liquid in the back of his throat was forced out. It ran down the sides of his face and down his chin, the reek of blood hitting the air immediately.

I'm in so much pain. I must be alive.

He tried to groan, but his vocal chords seemed to be broken; all that came from his lips was a raspy sigh. It hurt his chest to breathe too deeply, so his breaths became shallow pants as he struggled to gather himself. He knew he was pinned under a hunk of metal, but he wasn't sure how big it truly was. It was large enough to keep him from sitting up in his weakened state, but Tord could feel the dust blowing around his exposed ankles. The metal felt molten, making Tord's body feel like fire. His right arm stung and burned, far more than the rest if his body, and it felt wet. He must be bleeding. He hoped it wasn't as bad as it felt.

He knew he was wrong.

He moved his left hand, seeing if it was in one piece by touching each finger to his palm. Finding nothing but a dull ache there, he moved onto the right.

He couldn't remotely feel his hand, let alone move it.

All feeling stopped at the wrist, and it sent a pang of fear through him. Had he lost his entire hand? He remembered that it was on the control panel during the explosion - he was struggling to cool down the system before it shut down completely.

He was in so much pain. Too much pain. He tried to use his intact arm to push the large piece of metal off of him. To show that he was okay. To show anybody watching that he was still alive. He thought he was dead already, and he didn't want that to become a reality.

The burning temperature only increased as he forced the metal off with a pitiful wheeze, struggling to sit up. Tord found that there wasn't a lick of fire to be seen in the rubble, but the heat remained on his body. He immediately spit and took a gasping breath, gobs of crimson hitting his lap. He looked at his right arm, still able to make out the carnage through blurred vision. Once it cleared, his arm looked like it had been attacked by dogs, torn up with his bones showing in a few places. He shakily got up, clutching the limp appendage as if it was about to fall from his body.

Now that his wounds were exposed to the ashen air, Tord nearly doubled over as a new wave of searing pain erupted over his body. His breath hitched with a taught hum, eyes clenching shut as the sting of dust attacked his exposed nerves and gored flesh.

Adjusting to the pain, his mind went numb. Blank. He tried to find where his plan had backfired.

"Tord, what the hell are you doing? What the fuck is all this?"

"Nothing you need to see, get-...get out!"

Tom had found the lab.

Every time Tord had dragged Tom into the lab for experiments, he would wipe his memory afterwards, courtesy of a memory eraser gun. Tom didn't know about the lab until he had found it by accident that morning. Tord managed to stay at his old friend's house for six days, fixing up his lab and shamelessly having sex with Tom every night. He couldn't help himself, for the most part, but he also knew he would never see Tom again once he had left with the army's mech.