"Goddammit!," Lars grumbled, slamming the cupboard shut for the fifth time in the last hour. His stomach grumbled back at him, almost as loudly.

The guitarist's affliction was this: he was hungry, lazy, and disgruntled. The house seemed to be completely void of edible substances, short of the can of mushroom soup that had probably been in the cupboard longer than he'd been alive. Matt was out of town, which meant they probably wouldn't have any food for at least three days until he got back. There was always the option of leaving the house to get some food, but lack of money and aforementioned laziness considered, this was out of the question.

He leaned lazily against the counter and pulled the refridgerator open again, sighing. It wasn't that the fridge was empty. No, it was quite full - of take-out boxes from weeks ago, condiments, and miscellaneous things that couldn't be meant for human consumption. Exasperatedly, he moved a bottle of ketchup away from the shelf inside the door and pushed past some salsa that had most likely become one large, congealed clump in the shape of the jar. Just as he was about to close the door, something caught his eye.

An inobtrustive looking white container stood near the back of the fridge. Lars tilted his bespiked head and squinted one eye at it appraisingly before reaching in and pulling it out. The label identified the contents of the container as 'Yogurt'. Forgetting about the fact that no one in the house was likely to eat yogurt, he peeled the lid off with a popping sound and peered down at the gooey substance quizzically. Slowly, he lifted the container to his face and took a cautious sniff.

Lars leaned away from the yogurt like a cat that's just been sprayed in the face with water, his eyes widening. It smelled like a mix between girl's perfume and milk. That couldn't be healthy. Then again, he wondered, what was yogurt supposed to smell like? He sniffed at it again, less cautious this time, and recognized the perfumey scent. Rechecking the label appeased what his olfactory glands had told him. It was not just yogurt, but in fact, strawberry yogurt.

He kicked the door of the refrigerator shut and set the yogurt on the counter, eying it suspiciously as he pulled a drawer open and retrieved a plastic spoon-fork from some fast food chain. He pulled the plastic from the utensil and proded the thick, creamy substance. Hesitantly, he stuck out his tongue and licked the small amount of yogurt from the prongs of the spork. He appraised that it tasted all right, while not very strawberry-like, but it was sufficient for now.

Retreating to the vacant living room, Lars flopped onto the couch and dug into the strange substance while staring blankly at the TV. Yogurt, he decided, wasn't really all that bad. Though he was pretty sure the label lied about the strawberries, until he reached the bottom of the cup and found clumps of strawberries mixed into the yogurt. He checked the label again and discovered the 'fruit on the bottom' part...well, next time he'd keep that in mind.

Yogurt completed, he set the container next to the couch and vacated the living room again in favor of returning to his bedroom and his guitar. About an hour later, after the yellow mid-fall sun had snuck beneath the horizon and people returned home to their families and their american dreams, Tim returned from where ever it was he'd been all day. Lars wasn't sure where that was, since Tim was gone when he woke up.

"Hey," Tim said, leaning against the doorframe to Lars' room with leather jacket squeaking and mohawk flopping uselessly against his scalp.

Lars glanced up from his guitar and smiled at his friend. "Hey, where you been all day?"

Tim shrugged. "Went out to look for jobs, but no dice. What've you been up to?"

"Nothing, really," Lars told him, setting down the guitar. "Actually...heh. I didn't even leave the house."

Tim grinned at Lars, and Lars felt his stomach flutter when he did. "Sounds like an eventful day. You must be exhausted."

Lars gave a nod, feeling slightly lightheaded with the movement but passing it off as another reaction to his excessively adorable friend standing in the doorway. "Yeah, actually I have been feeling kind of tired..."

"All that overexertion that's required to do absolutely nothing," Tim told him sagaciously, then attempted to stifle a yawn. "I'm gunna crash myself, actually."

"Sounds good," Lars told Tim, smiling weakly at him. "I might be headed that way as well. 'Night Tim."

"G'night, Lars," Tim said, starting to walk away. Then he paused and glanced back in the room. "Hey, when're Matt and Brett getting back?"

"Uh...three days, I think?," Lars tried to remember.

"Right, cool," Tim nodded, then repeated his 'g'night' and moved down the hall to his bedroom.

Lars layed his guitar against his amp and stood up, swaying slightly with the movement. He shook his head harshly to clear the sudden dizziness, only succeeding in increasing it. Wow, he thought to himself, Tim didn't really look that great tonight. Waiting for the feeling to pass, he moved across the hall and brushed his teeth, then returned to his room.

Kicking the door closed behind him, Lars proceeding to start taking off his shirt. As soon as it was lifted over his head, a stabbing pain coarsed through his right side and he groaned.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself, rubbing the spot lightly. "I must be getting old if I can pull a muscle undressing."

The pain subsided after a second and he continued to undress, stripping down to his boxers before falling into bed. It didn't take long before sleep had claimed his form and he was snoring peacefully, sprawled out carelessly across the matress.

Two hours later, give or take, Lars was awoken when the pain in his side returned. This time at least ten times worse, and consuming his entire abdoment, it was enough to make him curl into a ball and whimper. His mouth was watering with the insatiable need to vomit, but he wasn't sure if he could uncurl himself long enough to stand up, and sure as hell not long enough to make it to the bathroom.

Rolling onto his back, Lars hugged his knees to his chest in an attempt to quell the nausea, disregarding the sheet that fell from his slightly sweating body. The motion did little to stop the pain, in fact, it only increased. Lars felt his stomach tighten up the way it will do before one starts vomitting and groaned loudly at the pain. As soon as it had subsided reasonably enough, he forced himself to roll over and off the bed.

He got halfway out of his bedroom door, on his hands and knees, before another stabbing pain hit him. He flattened himself against the cool floor, clenching his teeth together and waiting for it to pass. It did, after a long moment, and he whimpered loudly and looked across the hall at the bathroom door longingly. Another resigned moan of pain and he let his head drop back to floor with a dull thud.

Suddenly, Tim's door banged open and Lars could see his boots as he exitted it at a quick jog. He stopped very abruptly before running into Lars' prone form and looked down at him. "Lars?," he asked. "What the fuck?"

Lars groaned in response and let his eyes travel up from Tim's boots, with much effort. Past his bare legs, his glow in the dark monkey and banana-print boxers, his tattooed stomach, over his chest and finally up to meet his eyes. Tim had his head tilted, mohawk askew, looking down at Lars curiously.

Tim dropped the bat he'd been holding at the ready to the side, leaning on it like a cane. "I thought someone had broke in and was beating you up or something. What the hell are you doing on the floor?"

"My stomach...," Lars managed to croak out before said stomach clenched up again, causing him to more or less scream the last word of the sentence, 'hurts'.

"Oh, for the love of fuck," Tim grumbled. He set the bat against the wall and reached down, grasping Lars by the shoulders and attempting to stand him up. When he failed to lift the other man's slightly heavier weight, he settled on dragging him back to his bed. "Have you been drinking?," he asked, once Lars was situated back on his bed in the fetal position.

"No," Lars whined, then moaned distressedly. "I think I'm having the child of the anti-christ."

"I told you where all that sleeping around would get you," Tim mock-chastised him. "What'd I say? 'Lars, you keep fucking all those metal guys and eventually you're going to end up having the anti-christ's child.' But did you listen to me? Nooo, of course not. You just -"

"I'm gunna be sick," Lars said, cutting off Tim's groggy rambling.

Tim didn't say anything, just nodded and left the room. Moments later he returned with an empty trashcan, setting it next to Lars' bed.

"Did you eat anything today?," Tim questioned, thinking maybe Lars was sick from malnourishment.

Lars nodded, pulling himself pathetically to the side of the bed and peering at the trashcan as if it were a formidable opponent. "I had some - " he started, being interrupted by dry heaves.

Tim sneered and looked away as Lars lurched over the trashcan a few times, turning back to face him once he'd stopped. "You had some what?"

"Yogurt," Lars finished weakly. "It was the only edible thing I could find."

"Yogurt?," Tim asked, arching an eyebrow. Then a look of recognition took over his face. "Wait, strawberry yogurt?"

Lars nodded at the question.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Lars! That's been in there for five fucking months!," Tim exclaimed. Lars winced at the loudness.

"Well it seemed okay...," he defended quietly.

"It would have been, five months ago," Tim told him. "Fuck, man, don't you remember? Matt got it for me when I was really sick and couldn't eat much...but I didn't eat that one cuz strawberries give me hives."

"Oh, mother of sweet ironies," Lars groaned, then promptly rolled back over as his stomach contracted. He lay with his face over the trashcan for a few moments, to no avail. Nothing came up with each painful lurch.

Tim sat down on the bed next to Lars and rubbed his back lightly. "Well, fuck dude, looks like you have food poisoning."

Lars finished his unsuccessful attempt at vomitting, his stomach relaxing for the time being. He rolled over, placing his head in Tim's lap and looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Fix it," he whined.

Tim couldn't help but smile at his usually tough, hardcore friend laying in his lap and moaning pathetically at him. He brushed Lars' hair away from his forehead. "I can't fix it, Lars. You just have to wait for it to get out of your system."

"You mean I'm gunna feel like this until the yogurt's digested?," Lars asked, and Tim nodded. Lars whimpered and pressed his warm face against Tim's cool stomach. "I wanna die..."

Tim laughed, not because the comment itself was funny, but again because Lars' behavior was so unLarslike. "You don't wanna die, man. It's just a couple of days."

"A couple of days of hell!," Lars exclaimed, lifting his head off of Tim's lap to glare at him. Tim grinned and ran his fingers through Lars' hair, causing Lars to drop his head again.

"You'll be fine," Tim told him. "And now you have something to look forward to. Get up."

Lars whimpered and shook his head, but Tim gently lifted him up and laid him back on the bed.

"Tiiiiim," Lars whined. "Don't leave..."

Tim laughed slightly. "I'll be right back," he told Lars. "Don't worry."

Appeased, or maybe just too weak to argue, Lars laid back against the pillows. He groaned and rolled over about three seconds later, once again unsuccessfully trying to bring up the cursed yogurt from his stomach. When Tim returned, he found Lars curled up clutching his midsection.

Reclaiming his post on the side of the bed, Tim offered Lars a small, white pill. Lars looked at the pill for a second then up at Tim.

"What is it?," he asked, with the obligatory whining tone.

"Nux vomica," Tim told him.

"Nu-huhwhat?"

Tim smirked. "Nux vomica. It's derived from a nut in Africa that contains strychnine."

"That sounds like it'll help," Lars grumbled, still eyeing the capsule warily. He wasn't too sure about ingesting anything anymore, even if he thought he knew what it was.

"Just take it," Tim told him, sounding tired. Lars shook his head. "Lars...," he continued, warningly.

"No way. What if it reacts bad with the yogurt?," Lars countered, pushing away from Tim while still maintaining his protective position.

"The yogurt reacted badly with the yogurt," Tim reminded him.

Lars shook his head defiantly, and Tim decided to take matters into his own hands. Pouncing forward, he pinned the sick man against the matress with his own body weight. Lars was surprised for a second, but then tried to push Tim off of him when Tim grasped his jaw. Surprising Lars with his strength, Tim grasped both of his wrists between one hand and held them down. They wrestled around for a moment, Lars attempting to push Tim off of him and Tim trying to get ahold of Lars' jaw again. He finally succeeded, Lars glowering underneath him as he grasped his chin with his free hand.

"Stop being such a fucking pussy and take it, Lars," Tim told him, finally prying the other man's mouth open.

Lars glared up at him, but Tim took no notice, faltering. He looked down at the hand grasping Lars' wrists, then at the one holding his jaw - and the pill. He glanced back at Lars' mouth and chewed on his lip in thought. Finally coming to a decision, he dropped his head and pulled the pill into his own mouth with his tongue, then moved back over Lars.

Whatever anger Lars might have been directing towards Tim evaporated in an instant when Tim pressed his mouth against Lars' open one and pushed his tongue into it. He pulled away just as quickly, closing Lars' jaw for him and looking down at him expectantly. Lars blinked a few times, staring up at Tim in disbelief until a bitter, acidic taste invaded his tastebuds as the pill began to crumble away.

"This tastes like shit," he hissed at Tim through forcably gritted teeth.

"Better than bile," Tim countered. "Just let it dissolve."

"Not much," Lars told him matter-of-factly. Tim just smirked.

"Ya done now?"

Lars nodded with a bit of effort as the last of the pill dissolved inside his mouth. Placated, Tim let go of Lars and moved away from him. Lars relaxed against the pillows again, then groaned.

"I still don't feel any better," he complained.

"Well, fuck, dude, I'm not God..."

"If you were, I'd be kicking your ass for letting yogurt be created," he assured Tim.

Tim laughed and returned to his post on the side of the bed, looking over at Lars. "What the hell else do you want me to do?"

"Stay with me," Lars muttered before he had time to think about the words. Thankfully, Tim only smiled and nodded at the request.

"All right," Tim agreed. He reached over and felt Lars' forehead with the back of his hand. "But you have a fever, so I'm gunna see what I can do about that."

"Don't bring me anymore pills, fucker," Lars threatened. Even though, in actuality, he would take any pill given to him as long as Tim forced it into his mouth with his tongue.

"I won't," Tim promised, laughingly, before rising off the bed.

Tim left the room and left Lars with his thoughts, with mostly concentrated around the way it'd felt to have Tim's tongue in his mouth, even if for a few seconds. He knew that line of thinking would get him nowhere fast, but laying in bed with his stomach churning and his head pounding he couldn't really do much but think anyway. He tried instead to focus on the sound of water running in the bathroom, until it shut off and Tim's silhouette appeared again in the doorway. He sat down, scooting back on the bed to Lars, and pressed a warm washcloth against his forehead.

Lars smirked. "My mom used to do this when I was little and I'd get sick," he told Tim.

"Yeah?," Tim asked, pulling his legs onto the bed and underneath him once the cloth was situated.

"Yeah...then she'd get that horrible foul-smelling Vick's vapo-rub shit and put all over my chest and nearly make me even sicker," he said, sneering slightly at the memory. "I hated that stuff."

"Me, too," Tim agreed.

"But then she'd sing to me in Danish and I'd eventually fall asleep, even with the bad smell and everything," Lars continued, smiling wistfully now.

"Well, I don't know Danish, and we don't have any Vick's, so don't get any hopes up about reliving your childhood," Tim told him.

Lars laughed a bit. "Can I still call you 'Mommy'?"

"Hell no," Tim said, laughing. He pulled the cloth off of Lars' forehead. "That any better?"

Lars smiled, a bit more at ease now that his stomach had stopped hurting so much (he hated to admit it, but the strychnine Tim had given him had apparently worked.). "Yeah, a lot. Tha-" He was cut off when Tim unexpectedly leaned down and pressed his lips to Lars' forehead. An involuntary shiver went through his body, either caused by Tim or the sickness. "...thanks," he finished, once Tim had moved away.

"No problem," Tim told him, smiling affably. "You cold?"

Lars realized he'd wrapped his arms around himself, and nodded. Tim leaned over him and grabbed a blanket, pulling it over Lars as he shivered again. Tucking the blanket tightly around him, Tim layed down next to him and wrapped his arms around the other man. Lars no longer felt so relaxed, with Tim so close to him and breath ghosting across his shoulder. He shuddered again, and Tim pulled him closer.

"You sure you're cold?," Tim asked after a second. "You're sweating."

"Mhmm," Lars muttered. "Probably chills..."

"Good, that means your body's trying to fight the illness," Tim surmised.

"Hey Tim?," Lars asked, causing Tim to lift his head and look at him, way too close for comfort. "Can we clean the fridge out once I get better?"

Tim grinned at him. "Definately," he agreed.

Lars heard rather then saw Tim kick his boots off, thudding as they hit the floor next to his bed. Then Tim reached over him to reobtain the washcloth. He pushed the blanket down Lars' chest a little and started to slowly stroke the cloth across his skin, from one shoulder to the other, tracing his collarbones lightly.

"Tim?," Lars asked quietly.

"Yeh?," Tim questioned in reply, not ceasing his movements.

"What're you doing?"

"If you don't sweat so much, you won't be as cold," Tim explained logically. "So I'm getting the sweat off."

"Oh," Lars muttered.

Tim continued to run the washcloth across Lars' chest, cleaning the thin layer of sweat off with more care than was probably needed. Lars allowed his eyes to close, revelling in the soft touch. He felt his breathing hitch when Tim pushed the blanket further off of him, sliding the cloth lower, over his ribs and stomach. The sensation was undeniably sensual, Lars couldn't deny that, and he was starting to wonder if that was Tim's intention.

Gasping as Tim's hand slid even lower, Lars couldn't help pushing his hips slightly off the bed. "Tim...," he whispered, a slight questioning tone to his voice.

Tim silenced him by pressing his lips against Lars' shoulder softly. "I'm gunna make you feel better," he responded quietly.

Lars whimpered as Tim dragged the cloth lower, across his abdomen and eventually underneath the waistband of his boxers. His hips again bucked forward as Tim wrapped his hand, and the washcloth, around his erection and started to move it across the aching skin with practiced patience.

Tim moved his mouth along Lars' shoulder, up his neck and across his jawline. He stifled Lars' moans with his own mouth then, Lars squirming underneath his careful touch. Lars arched his back, pressing against Tim's hand in a silent plea for him to go faster, but Tim didn't heed it. He pressed his tongue into Lars' mouth gently and continuing the sweet torture.

Their lips broke apart moments later and Tim resituated his mouth on Lars' chest. He licked across the slightly damp surface in a circular pattern, moving lower steadily. Lars whimpered, wrapping an arm over Tim's back. Tim pushed the blankets further down his body, then released him in favor of dragging his boxers off of his hips. Lars groaned at the lack of touch, squirming. Tim smirked at him, but appeased his need to contact regardless.

"Oh, fuck...," Lars breathed as Tim took his cock into his mouth, licking at the tip. He sucked on the skin gently as he moved his mouth further down, eliciting moans of pleasure and impatience from Lars. Lars grasped the back of Tim's limp mohawk as he worked his tongue across him, almost painfully slow. But Lars sure as hell wasn't complaining.

Tim pressed a hand against Lars' hip, bracing himself and consequently holding Lars down as he started to thrash a bit more. Finally giving in, he started to speed up his movements, causing Lars to curse and moan with every breath. It didn't take too terribly long before Lars was pushing fiercely against the hold Tim had on his hips, biting his lip yet swearing like a sailor at the same time as he came.

Tim slid back up on the bed, dragging the blanket with him. Lars shuddered, this time coming down from the throes of bliss inflicted by Tim instead of actually being cold. Tim moved under the blanket next to him and Lars drew him closer. Tim curled up against him, laying his head on his chest and looking up at him curiously.

"Feel better now?," he asked, an amused tone to his voice.

"Shit...," Lars started, still breathless. He nodded emphatically. "Yeah, I do. And I think I should get sick more often."

Tim grinned then leaned up to kiss him briefly. "No way," he argued once he'd situated himself back on Lars' chest. "You're a whiney bitch when you're sick, plus, you owe me now."