wesleysgirl

So I wrote a little comment ficlet for

beadattitude set in the "On Life and Living" 'verse, and I thought I should post it here before I totally lose track of it. (It would not be the first time, LOL.)

John/Rodney, 452 words, PGish.

"Oh my God, would you stop that?" Rodney sits up in bed and glares at John, who's in the middle of a coughing fit that feels like it's shredding his throat. "Some people are trying to sleep, you know."

"Sorry," John manages when he can catch his breath, but he can't quite give it the sarcastic quality he'd like.

"Where did this come from, anyway? You were fine when you went to bed." Rodney reaches over to touch his forehead, then recoils in horror. "God, you're burning up. I'm getting the thermometer."

Considering Rodney's hypochondria, John's surprised he doesn't keep a thermometer conveniently tucked under his pillow. That's about the only thought he can come up with, though, because his teeth are chattering and he's wishing he'd ignored Rodney's insistence that electric blankets were dangerous so that he could turn one on and bask in the glorious, glorious heat.

He can hear Kayla's bedroom door open, and Rodney saying something reassuring. It's possible the word "sweetheart" is in there somewhere. Or maybe John just hallucinates that part. Kayla's door closes again, and then Rodney comes back and turns on the light.

"Here, put this under your tongue." Rodney looks at him, then adds, "I'll get an extra blanket."

John is glad the days of glass thermometers are over, because he has to clench the thing tightly enough between his teeth that a glass one would have broken. Rodney spreads another blanket over him, but it doesn't seem to make much difference -- he's still shivering.

Rodney goes back to the bathroom, then returns just as the thermometer beeps. Plucking it from John's mouth, Rodney says, "101.7. You're sick! You never get sick! I don't think you've been sick since that first time I came over here."

"Back before you introduced me to the joys of gay sex," John says dryly, just before a fit of shivers wracks him, setting off another round of coughing.

"Here, take these," Rodney says when it's over, pressing pills and a glass of water into John's hands. John doesn't even ask what they are, just takes them. "And now this." Thick cough syrup that tastes awful but soothes his throat on the way down, at least. "Now come here."

Rodney gets into bed with him and pulls him close, holding him. It feels like forever until the shivering stops, and then finally John is warm again, and kind of sleepy. He coughs a little bit, experimentally, but he can tell he's going to fall asleep soon. He's grateful for Rodney's solid shoulder under his head and thinks that he should say so, but he can't find the energy.

The last thing he hears Rodney saying before sleep takes him is, "You'd better not get your germs on me."