Delirious
Copyright © 2001 Em

Television, when Lance was ill, never amounted to more than a dull annoying buzz in the background no matter what he tried to watch. It was always as though it was forcing him to be aware of his ailments, of every ache and burn and discomfort in his body. During the shows for the week Lance had known, just known he was coming down with something, as sure as the burgeoning headache and tender joints could communicate. Today, he'd spent most of the Challenge game sitting, griping, feeling miserable and wanting his mom, and the shows hadn't been getting any easier.

Before, in front of the crowd and the cameras, he could think of nothing better than getting back to the hotel and completely relaxing in front of the TV -- probably alone, since the others had cleared out as soon as he'd admitted he wasn't feeling well. Even Chris, whom he'd hoped would at least call, had held back, and he wasn't sure what to make of that. But once Lance was in his room alone the way he wanted to be, the television merely made him hyperaware of the unsettledness of his stomach and the chills that let him know he had a fever. Lance hated the television.

He didn't move toward the sound when someone knocked on the door. "What?" he yelled.

"Open up!" Chris's voice came through the door. "It's the Kirkpatrick get well brigade!"

Lance rolled his eyes and smiled at the thought of him despite himself, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "Didn't anybody ever tell you rest is the best medicine?" he asked, opening the door to greet Chris.

"No," Chris answered, and held up the box he carried in his hands. "Look -- I come bearing gifts. I mean you no harm."

Lance couldn't fight his grateful grin. "I see," he said, and stepped back so that Chris could come in. "You didn't have to come all the way over here for that, you know," he pointed out as he closed the door. "A call would've sufficed. 'Hey, Lance, get well, love Chris.'"

"Yeah, but-- like, you gotta check this out," Chris called to him, already across the room. "I got all these things to make you feel better."

"I'm not that sick," Lance told him. He slid a hand around Chris's waist as he passed him to get back into bed. "Nothing I can't just sleep off."

"Yeah," Chris nodded shortly, reaching into the box. "Were you sleeping when I got here?"

Lance sighed. "No," he admitted.

"All right then," Chris said, and sat down next to where Lance lay. "Here, hold this."

Lance glanced down at the box in his hands and turned it over. "Balderdash?"

"Just some stuff to pass the time," Chris said. He continued to unload the items. "Box of Kleenex--"

"I'm not congested."

"You might be later," Chris went on. "Deck of cards, poker chips--"

"For what, a game of strip poker?" Lance raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe when you're feeling better." Chris shrugged. "MAD magazine, Vick's Vaborub--"

"I don't even have a cough," Lance argued.

Chris ignored him. "Handcuffs, blindfold--"

"Okay," Lance cut him off again. "Can we stop at the bondage stuff, please?" He beckoned to the magazine Chris had deposited at his knees. "Pass me the MAD," he said; then, glancing around, he frowned. "Did you bring anything for you to read?" he asked, trying to peer over the edge of the box.

"Maybe." Chris hugged it to himself as though it contained some sort of hidden treasure. "No peeking. But you sure you don't want any of this other stuff?" He went back to rooting in the box. "I got some Buckley's here, Tylenol Cold & Flu -- not even flu pills?"

Lance shrugged helplessly. "I really just. Am kinda cold, and, like, nauseous, is all." He shivered unintentionally with the reminder and thought that pulling up the covers would probably be a start to counteracting the way he felt.

"Well, the pills'll probably help, you know," Chris pointed out. "Want me to get in there with you?" he offered, peeling back the covers before Lance had a chance to respond.

"No-- wai-- hey--" Lance yelped, scooting over as the contents Chris had unloaded from the box tumbled off the bed under his squirming form. "Your shoes! Take off your shoes if you're gonna-- geez-- Chris, if you--"

"Okay, here." Chris ignored him, wiggling beside his body, fully clothed and with shoes still on. He propped himself up on one elbow and handed Lance the jar of Vaporub. "That stuff is all-purpose; it's gotta be good for fevers and nausea and shit, if you try it."

Lance eyed the jar dubiously. "Doesn't say anything about that," he started. "I mean, I know you can put it on, like, your chest and stuff--"

"Oh, they leave stuff like that out of the instructions all the time," Chris said dismissively, then reached over to retrieve the jar from Lance and began to unscrew it. "Think about it: you put it on your chest and what does it do?"

"It, um," Lance watched Chris dip two fingers into the jar and come away heavy with smoky-colored gel. "Gets penetrated into your, uh, skin, and um. The smell and everything clears your sinuses and stuff."

Chris nodded. "Uh-huh," he said, and waved at Lance to pull back the covers again, which Lance did, scooting up a little on the pillow. "And," Chris added, tugging back on the hem of Lance's t-shirt until it met his sternum, "how does it make you feel, on your skin, when you put it on your chest?"

Lance tucked his chin in and studied the rise and fall of his stomach as he thought. "Um. Hot?"

"Exactly," Chris said, and brought the dollop of Vaporub down to Lance's stomach and began to smooth it in. Lance gasped and jumped at the initial shock and grabbed at his wrist, but Chris pressed on determinedly. "Listen -- it's gonna warm you up, right?" he said, when Lance shuddered under his touch.

"I'm gonna smell for like, a week," Lance muttered, his voice wavering, feeling goosebumps start up on his skin. "It's like. Chris. The air is hitting it, and it's colder now than I was before you--"

Chris had stuck his tongue between his teeth in concentration. "It's gonna get worse before it gets better, my man," he murmured, and "here," he said, tugging down on Lance's pajama bottoms so that they rode low on his hipbones. "You still feel like puking?"

Lance thought about it and figured the fact that he had to think about it was probably a good sign. "It's possible," he said.

"Well, this'll probably be absorbed into your stomach and help with that, too," Chris said confidently, smoothing the gel into the hairs below Lance's navel and slicking them down flat against the skin. Lance grimaced.

"Because menthalyptus and nausea really go well together."

"Or something." Chris looked up from his ministrations. "Dude, if this doesn't help, I'll let you puke on me, okay?"

"Small consolation," Lance said, but realized that he'd stopped shivering. "I think I'm startin' to get warmer, maybe."

"Perfect." Chris scooped a stray dollop of gel from Lance's skin and smeared it on his cheek, then leaned in and bumped his lips against Lance's temple. He was frowning slightly when he pulled back. "Hey, you are kinda warm," he observed, brushing his thumb against Lance's hairline.

"Only on the outside," Lance said. "And I told you -- feverish, remember?"

"Yeah," Chris said absently, stroking Lance's hair back. "But if you're sweating, that means the fever's breaking, right? Lemme get something to clean up with," he added, climbing back out of bed and taking the box with him. "Because I don't trust you not to peek," he told Lance, when he made protesting noises.

"I'll give you a blow job if you let me see what's in the box," Lance yelled after him, when Chris turned the bathroom tap on.

"As tempting as that is..." The water came off and Chris emerged, rubbing at his hand with a washcloth. "I thought you were nauseous," he said.

"It's goin' away." Lance sniffled. "And my nose is startin' to run."

"So obviously," Chris sat down next to him again. "The Vick's is helping."

"Whatever," Lance said, reaching for a Kleenex. "Can you get it off me now?" he asked, and blew gently.

"And then what?" Chris asked, turning the cloth over and draping it on Lance's stomach.

"And then you could get back under here and stay for a while?"

Chris paused to look at Lance again. "Dude, I'm stayin' all night," he said, and wiped at the warm streak of Vaporub on Lance's cheek before kissing his mouth. Lance opened his mouth to him, tentatively at first, then kissed back agressively; but he was still the first to pull away.

"Maybe not that," he said, resting his hand on Chris's casted forearm. "I don't want you getting sick, too."

Chris shook his head and slid his arm around Lance's side. "Not so," he said, and kissed Lance again, just a peck. "Read somewhere that by the time you start feeling sick, you're not contagious anymore. So," he slid in closer next to Lance and threw his leg over Lance's. "I could warm you up with my body heat of looove. Get sweaty and stuff."

Lance smiled. "I'm already sweaty," he pointed out, before Chris kissed him again, sweeping away the washcloth in a smooth motion. Lance heard it hit the floor softly, and smelled the strength of the menthalyptus when Chris snuggled closer, half on top of him. "I totally stink still," he muttered, breaking the kiss and reaching back up for another one, rubbing his hand over the back of Chris's neck.

"You smell like roses," Chris said, then pulled back and wrinkled his nose. "Except on your cheek, shit, did I do that?" he asked, and as soon as they had separated, Lance keenly felt the loss.

"You did," and "'m cold again," he said, fully aware of the irony as he forced Chris back so he could sit up and tug off his t-shirt. He grabbed at the edge of the box Chris had bought, sitting solitary by Chris's hand, and dragged it over to the other side of the bed, kissing away Chris's protests. "If you get sick, I swear--"

"If I get sick, you gotta do this for me," Chris responded, the roughness of his cast harsh against Lance's back and the fingers of his other hand tracing over Lance's chest as he pressed Lance back into the bed. He nuzzled Lance's ear, burying his nose in his sideburn, then drew back to study Lance's face. "You feel okay?" he checked with him.

Lance nodded. "I'll let you know," he assured Chris, reaching up and tugging on the hem of Chris's shirt. When he had it over and off, he palmed the back of Chris's head and brought him back down. Kissed Chris again, sucked on Chris's tongue and spread his legs so that Chris could settle between them. His legs jumped a little when Chris's hand shimmied down between their bodies, inside the waistband of his pajamas, cupping his dick until it was hard. "Um," he said, not intending it to be audible.

Chris unlatched his lips from Lance's neck and pulled back, withdrawing his hand, which was the last thing Lance wanted him to do just then. "What?" he asked.

"No. Not," Lance sighed, and tried to get his hips to meet Chris's hand again. "Just." He squirmed, feeling Chris hard against his thigh, and squirmed harder. "I didn't mean. could you give me a hand here?" he said, and sighed again when Chris replaced his hand, and dug his fingers into the smoothness of Chris's back, arching up into him. Chris's fly came undone only after several tries, and Lance slid his hand over Chris's ass, trying to press him closer still. He turned his head into Chris's kisses, raised a leg to hook over Chris's, panted into Chris's mouth. He definitely felt hot now. He thought they were starting to sweat together.

Chris broke away again, broken hand stretching over the bed towards the box he'd brought. "Can you grab me the box for a second?" he asked, when he couldn't reach it.

Lance pressed his head back into the pillow and stared up at Chris in disbelief. "What for? We're busy, Chris." And if you choose now to show me a magic trick or something I'll kill you, he thought.

"Lube, man," Chris said defensively, then looked sheepish. "I uh, brought. Just. In case, you know."

Lance rolled his eyes, but reached for the box anyway. "I get it," he grunted, passing it to Chris, and shuffled his pants down, wriggling against Chris's knee. "Lance is sick -- so bring the lube! Good to know."

"I didn't hear you complainin' before," Chris told him, and climbed off to rid himself of his own jeans and boxers.

"I didn't know this was just a big plan to seduce me before," Lance retorted, rubbing the tube of lube between his palms in an attempt to warm it.

"Worked, didn't it?" Chris plucked the tube from Lance's fingers, crawling back under the covers, and draped himself over Lance like he hadn't ever left.

"Only 'cause you lucked out," Lance said, widening his legs when Chris sought between them with a lubed finger. "You could've gotten here and I could've been way sicker." Chris probed gently inside of him and he shuddered, forgetting for the moment what it had been like to be cold at all. "I could've been on, like, death's door," he murmured. "And then what would you've done?"

Chris lowered his forehead to Lance's as he removed his fingers and pushed inside of him in their place. "Seducing you would've been harder, maybe," he admitted.

Lance smiled minutely, allowing his eyes to drift shut as Chris thrust within him. He could still smell, if Chris moved just so, the remnants of the Vaporub between their bodies, and every place Chris touched felt as though it might be on fire in a way that Lance wasn't yet sure was good or bad; but the steady push and pull of Chris, and his shoulders beneath Lance's hand, his ribs between Lance's knees, were all that ultimately mattered. Chris twisted his hips as he thrust, reached between them with his lubed hand and wrapped his fist around Lance's erection, and Lance's eyes flew open to stare up into Chris's dark ones. "I love you so much," he gasped.

"I love you too," Chris said. "You're delirious."

He was coming, and being crushed to Chris in a kiss that swallowed his gasps and moans as he rode it out, and when Chris came moments later Lance cupped his face in his hands and thought he looked as heated as Lance felt. He pushed the box and debris aside when Chris rolled off of him, panting, and draped his leg over Chris's this time. This is so romantic, he thought sarcastically when the scent of menthalyptus rose up again between their bodies, and he clutched at the covers, pulling them up to his neck. He thought he might be on the road to recovery. He thought Chris's get well kit had something to it after all.

He sat up and leaned over Chris as soon as he could breathe again. "Thanks," he said. Sweat had beaded up on Chris's upper lip, and he wiped it away with his fingertip.

"Oh," Chris said, waving a hand lazily. "Pffft."

"I mean it," Lance went on. "I mean, I'd just been hoping you'd, like, call me or somethin' tonight, and then you go and do all this." He glanced down at the junk that littered the floor, and wasn't even tempted, now, to see what else was in Chris's mysterious box. "I'm really glad you didn't just call, you know?" he said. "Even if we hadn't-- I mean, even if I was sicker, it was, you know. still nice."

Chris nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I do what I can."

"Because I meant what I said before," Lance told him. "I wasn't delirious."

"Neither was I," Chris said.

-The End-

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