“Have to pee.” The bathroom door looks a mile away. Damn, I should have made Sam take him before he left. I can do this. I can do this.
“All right, on the count of three, we go toward the bathroom then.” When I hit three, I take a deep breath and stand, pulling on his arm. He doesn’t appear to be trying to help at all. It’s no secret to any woman that men turn into big babies when they are sick. Jake got the flu last year, and Rose almost strangled him before it was over. A woman can work twelve hours with PMS and a heavy flow and not complain; men can stub their toe and be bedbound for a month. Maybe he needs some reverse motivation. “Luc, you stay right here, and I’ll go get a bowl.”
He opens one eye, peering up at me. “Bowl?”
Trying to appear nonchalant, I say, “Yep, since you’re too weak to make it to the bathroom, I’ll just help you pee in a bowl right here. We have to do what we have to do, right?” Oh, please, don’t let him agree. I will indeed do it, but I so don’t want to…at all. I almost laugh when he starts scowling. Bingo, the male pride has taken a direct hit. He struggles to his feet, weaving slightly. I take his arm, putting it around my shoulders, steering him toward the bathroom door. It’s a slow process, but we make it without either of us falling or peeing on ourselves. He falls back against the wall while I lift the toilet lid, praying he only has to pee. Things will get interesting if it’s anything else. Looking at his pale face, I give him a bright smile, saying, “You’ve got this, right? I’ll be right outside the door. Just yell when you’re finished, and I’ll help you back in the bed.” As I get to the door, I look back to see him struggling to pull his pants down. Don’t those pants have a pee hole? If they do, he seems oblivious. I pause, watching him start to stagger. He’s about two seconds from falling into the damn toilet when I straighten my spine and walk back to him. Without saying a word, I reach for his pants and lower them to his knees. I feel like a total pervert when I admire his cock. Even soft, he’s big and beautiful. I quickly avert my gaze as he takes it in his hand and what sounds like two gallons of water splashing fills the room. When the sound stops, I pull his pants back up and help him to the sink, washing his hands for him.
He’s trembling all over when we finally make it back to his bed. I tuck him under the covers and end up in a less-than-graceful belly flop onto his chest when he didn’t release his hold on me. I try to push away, but he only holds tighter. “Stay; you feel so warm.”
“Luc,” I squeak out, “you need to let me go. I’ll get your medicine and a drink and be right back.” For a moment, I think he’s going to refuse, but his arms drop limply away, and I pull back before he changes his mind. Running back to the kitchen, I pick up the abandoned glass and Nyquil, hurrying with it to the bedroom. I sit beside him, putting a pillow under his head so he can drink the liquid medication, followed by a few sips of ginger ale. He’s still shivering, so I find another blanket in the closet, tucking it in around his shoulders.
He grabs my hand as I’m pulling away. “Sleep with me, Lia; so fucking cold.” The school required flu shots so I have had mine, but I’m not sure it will help if I am in such close contact with him. The sound of his teeth chattering makes up my mind. I quickly pull my shoes off and crawl in the other side of the bed. Lucian immediately seeks my warmth, pulling my back firmly to his front, sighing against my neck. The feel of his breath on the sensitive area along with his firm body is enough to make my panties go damp. Lucian might be physically sick, but it appears I am mentally sick if I’m lusting after someone as ill as he is. A yawn escapes my mouth as I settle against him. It‘s a little after nine, early for bedtime, but it looks like I’m going to sleep; I don’t want to disturb Lucian with the noise of the television.
Sometime later, I wake to the sounds of Lucian choking; I know instinctively he’s dreaming as he did the last time we were together. “Luc,” I say quietly, trying not to startle him. “Luc, wake up. You’re dreaming.” When he doesn’t respond, I put my hand on his head, starting to gently run my fingers through the thick, damp strands. “Shhhh, it’s okay. You’re safe; no one is going to hurt you, Luc.” He continues to struggle for a few minutes more before my voice and the comfort of my hand seem to reach him. As the horrible sounds stop emitting from his throat, I slowly settle my body back against his. Instead of turning away, I bring my arms around him until I am stroking his back soothingly. His head still feels hot against my neck as he turns into my body, seeking the comfort of my arms. “I’ve got you, baby; go back to sleep.” The endearment slips out in the dark, feeling foreign but somehow right on my tongue. His arms lift, pulling me into him. Soon, the soft sounds of his snores vibrate in my ear, but still he holds me as if holding onto a lifeline. I have spent my whole life searching for shelter from the storms that chase me, so I give him what he needs without reservation, holding him tightly the rest of the night.
Lucian
The room is spinning, and I have an overwhelming desire to puke. Fuck, have I passed out drunk? The room finally comes back into focus, and my stomach quiets as the spinning slows to a ripple. I try to move, but there is a weight on my chest and my legs are wrapped around something…or someone. Tentatively, I look down to see blonde hair. Lia? Shit, the way I feel, I’m not even sure. My hand slides under the cover, coming to rest on the curve of an ass my body recognizes. Yeah, Lia. Even though I feel like I have been beat to shit with a steel bat, my body stirs as it always does when she’s anywhere in the vicinity. When her body shifts, pushing her tits into my stomach and her pussy against my cock, I groan, waking her. “Luc,” she croaks, her voice heavy and husky. The sun coming in through the blinds slants across her beautiful face, filled with concern. “How are you feeling? Do you need me to get you something?”
A harsh laugh escapes my lips. How I feel is like shit, what I need is to fuck her until I either pass out or die; either way, I’ll go happy. “Yeah, baby, I need that sweet pussy all over my lips. Just fucking sit on my face and give it to me hard.” When she jerks back as if she has been slapped, I know I’ve actually given voice to my dirty thoughts. Fucking hell, the jig is up. Any illusions she’s been harboring about me being a nice, but horny, guy are over. I’m a dirty motherfucker who thinks about doing equally-dirty things to her pussy most of the damn day and night. After she does a bang-up imitation of an owl for another minute, peals of laughter fill the room.