DONT LOOK AT ME I DONT LIKE MAN BOOBS I SWEAR

DONT LOOK AT ME I DONT LIKE MAN BOOBS I SWEAR

Tord sits on Matt’s knees, placing his hands gently on either side of Matt’s face, forcing him to look up at him. Matt doesn’t look, averts his gaze somewhere to the side, trying to dodge the hands of others and lower his head.

- Matthew, I’m begging you. - The voice sounded quiet enough. It was almost a whisper, but in a room where there was complete silence, even it could be heard clearly.

The man reluctantly looks up, having stopped trying to change the position of his head. The full form of his name, spoken with such warmth and tenderness, always worked. And the fact that it was used only in the most personal, intimate and special moments, only exacerbated the situation.

They talk to each other a lot less than a few years ago. Matt - because it’s hard for him and he has to spend a lot of energy in order to say at least something intelligibly. Tord - because he doesn’t want to strain Matt, forcing him to answer him in any way. Some people feel like they don’t talk at all.

Matt doesn’t need any more words. He doesn’t want to listen to these false compliments about his appearance, said with frank pity. He doesn’t want to hear praise for his work and actions, for he knows that despite all the training, he is still not good enough.

Matt needs action. Matt needs touch. Matt needs to know that he isn’t disgusting or repulsive to anyone. Words spoken at a distance couldn’t give him that.

Tord slowly runs his thumbs over Matt’s cheeks, gently kisses him on the forehead, then on the nose, in one and the second eye (the redhead squints and makes a sound like a chuckle), on the cheeks and cheekbones. He kisses almost every wrinkle and freckle on Matt’s face. But when it comes to the lips, everything around freezes abruptly, creating a tense atmosphere in the room. The silence now began to press, squeeze, causing some fear. Matt had only one lip, while only this prosthesis was below, as if the man had been skinned, leaving this part of the skull sticking out

He sees Tord’s expression change to sadness. He looks away again, not wanting to see how someone once again looks at him with this pity, as if all his bones were broken and he remained chained to the bed forever. Pale, bony, freckled hands grab Tord by the wrists, trying to finally free head. Matt’s hands start to shake a little.

The man immediately understands what mistake he made.

- You know it’s not. - Tord kisses Matt once more on the forehead, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. Matt backs off. - I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.

Tord leans down, kissing the man in front of him as if his face is still intact and part of his mouth hasn’t been blown off. The kiss is hesitant and modest, like they are teenagers kissing for the first time.

They look at each other in silence as Tord continues to run his fingers over Matt’s cheeks. The atmosphere in the room was no longer tense.

At some point, Matt wraps his arms around Tord, hugs him, clings to him, as if afraid that he will leave. He buries his nose into Tord’s chest, while a smile spreads across Tord’s face. Tord runs his hand through Matt’s hair, hearing him begin to mutter something indignantly, although without a drop of anger. He lets out a soft laugh as he closes his eyes.

Matt wants to feel loved. Matt wants to feel wanted. Especially now, when he can hardly call his appearance attractive. Tord is ready to give him everything he needs.

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