#splitfangs: thomas.

[hyperstimuli]

Thomas made it just in time. His half - eaten snack was thrown onto the counter as he threw up into the kitchen sink. Once he was finished ( or perhaps too exhausted to bring up more ), Thomas lowered his torso. He rocked back and buried his sweaty forehead in the bend of his elbow. The strange mixture of raw ground beef and whipped cream -- presently, his favorite craving -- that had been abandoned in his bowl on the counter still smelled heavenly, but he knew better than to reach for it.

The vampire groaned. He heard Connie behind him, asking her bapu if her dad was alright. Thomas wanted to reply to the girl, to assure her that it was simply a part of her sister growing big and strong in their father ; however, he didn't have it in him then.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the light - headed creature raised his eyes again. He coughed and spit into the sink. "Whoever named it morning sickness obviously never had a baby. It's fucking six at night." Thomas laughed hoarsely, lips curving in a half - hearted smile. "You better know how much I love ya, Chandra, after all this."

— from @splitfangs ( thomas ), unprompted.

Reassuring Connie that Dad was going to be okay was simple, even if her big eyes continued to hold that look of concern. He could understand the helplessness-- back when he'd been alone and Rohan was only a few weeks old, everything made him feel that way. So when he suggested she fill a cup of water for Dad, it came to no surprise that she was bolstered by the potential for usefulness. Chandra kissed the top of Connie's head before she went to do as she was told, two hands holding the cup carefully on her way to the water dispenser.

On his end, his hand never left Thomas' back, stroking it in an attempt to soothe him as he threw his food back up. The vampire's flesh was often cool, but this was a specific sort of clammy. Chandra shouldn't enjoy it, but with how capable Thomas was, it was nice to be able to take care of him without having to fight him for it first. Rohan's mother had been worse off than Thomas in a lot of ways, the drug habit notwithstanding; it made anything Thomas did feel like easy mode in comparison.

Chandra didn't say this, of course. Instead, pushing some of Thomas' hair away from his face, he bent to kiss his temple.

"I love you too," he said. Connie's bare feet pattered over to offer the cup of water, an "I love you too, Dad!" coming out along the way.

"Connie got you some water, babe." Chandra's fingers carded through Thomas' hair, blunt nails absently brushing against his scalp. "You should drink at least a little after all that."

[hyperstimuli]

Thomas looked at his bandaged forearm. There was another section like it on each of his legs. Twice now in the past three weeks he peeled up his own skin in the shower, hollow and seemingly unsure of what he was doing. Both times, Chandra was kind enough to care for him -- and that only made Thomas feel worse.

Earlier, while he sat on the closed toilet lid for Chandra to dry his hair, Thomas had become aware of a terrible hardness in his stomach. He suspected then he couldn't sleep with it, but the vampire laid down all the same. Hours later, Thomas stared at the wall, trembling. His normally sluggish heart was racing. Every sense relayed the same message : the heat was too much, the sound of his breathing was too much, the smell of the shampoo that was never fully washed out was too much. It all hurt. Thomas sniffed, and fresh tears rolled down the bridge of his nose. When did he start crying --?

It occurred to him distantly that he was starting to have a panic attack. A real, proper one. The sort he hadn't suffered since his Momma enrolled him in therapy as a boy. Thomas pulled his body up blindly. Broken growls issued from him between the short, wheezing breaths. He could only hope that Chandra wouldn't try to comfort him. Rome was sitting so heavily in him ; at any point, Thomas felt that it would claw its way up his throat.

— from @splitfangs, unprompted.

What horrible timing it was, to realise he loved Thomas at the man's lowest. The truth of it swirled in his gut as well as his head, leaving him all too aware of the fact Thomas was sleeping in his guest room tonight. He'd done everything he could not to pay attention to him, but old habits died hard, and the massive revelation of his affection made him miss Thomas in his bed so much he was going to be sick with it.

He was, already, sick with it.

Whatever happened in Rome had hurt him. Chandra noticed it as soon as Thomas showed up at his door. But they weren't the kind of people who talked about these things, and what peace they achieved together (or what passion) was never extrapolated to be more than that.

Thomas wasn't Chandra's to know intimately.

But with his eyes shut, all Chandra could sense was the furious beating of Thomas' heart and the shuddering of his lungs. Without Rohan around-- he was sleeping over at a friend's place-- Thomas was a beacon of stimuli. Thomas was crying. Thomas was wheezing. Thomas' muscles were taut, and Chandra dug his nails so deep into his own bicep it left crescents in its wake.

It's none of your business. You've never had to ask about his other trips before. You'll invade his privacy, you'll be too much--

There was only so much of this Chandra could take. I love him, and he's in pain.

"Thomas." Maybe he would hear him, and the softness of the plea wrapped around each syllable. Chandra swallowed.

"You don't have to be alone."

He didn't share the same hearing Thomas did, but Chandra'd already memorised what his name felt like on Thomas' lips. If Thomas said it, he would know.

"Let me in. Please."

[hyperstimuli]

Thomas awoke slowly. His eyes felt heavy and ... damp. The evidence of old tears, he thought, or crust that had been lovingly wiped away while he was under. He winced at the soreness in his jaw and tightness across his body. Thomas knew that he was still alive, that this was still him, but he recognized at the same time that he physically felt different. So sensitive, so raw, that even the scrape of the sheets over his bare figure made him whimper.

"Chandra ?" he asked, soft. His voice was surprisingly stable. More demonstration of how well he was cared for during his shock and subsequent great sleep. Thomas vaguely remembered sipping blood and broth, which would explain why his belly was full and throat partially recovered from screaming.

God above, he had screamed so much.

"Chandra ?" Thomas said again, dragging himself up onto his bent forearms. The covers of their bed slid lower on his muscular form, settling neatly around the area of his hips. He was tempted to look, but he couldn't bring his heart to face the disappointment if something went wrong. Please, love. Did we do it -- ?

— from @splitfangs, unprompted.

There was nothing Chandra could create that would rival the complexity of what he just did to Thomas' insides.

In-between the care he provided (despite knitting everything he tore back together, Thomas still had to get over the shock of being ripped and reformed), he sat at Thomas' bedside terribly hyperaware of nothing else but him. Like when he was working in the kitchen, every ounce of his focus honed in on Thomas' body and its transfiguration: how that healing factor slowly twined with his own efforts, how Thomas' organs accepted the new tandem of a brand new set of parts, and how, in the end, the millions of little cells just sitting heavy in Thomas' ovaries shifted knowing one of them would have to leave soon.

It was the most elaborate piece Chandra could have ever crafted in his life. Between holding Thomas' hand in two of his and pressing his lips to his knuckles, Chandra felt fucking high.

Even now, as Thomas stirred, that feeling persisted. Even when he woke and said his name, Chandra was reeling thinking of how much he'd done.

So much of Thomas had bled inside, but the sheets on him remained pristine. This was because of him. Because Chandra'd held him together whilst his body healed and adjusted and evolved to make room.

Thomas began to sit up, and with it pulled his hand free from Chandra's touch. Taking it as a cue, Chandra's left hand cupped Thomas' jaw; the other moved deftly to press over the top of his stomach, resting right above where everything was changed.

"Hey," he said, coaxing Thomas to turn his head towards him. "Hey. I'm here, Thomas." I was just distracted...

"You're good. Everything looks good." And out of respect, perhaps so Thomas could feel it first, Chandra kept his right hand from slipping lower where he'd crafted Thomas' womb. "Body's working fine, too, as long as you don't feel too much pain."

We did it, he wanted to say. But Chandra wasn't sure Thomas felt the same way.