wl_fanfiction | [SICKFIC] Aches and Pains

makingamochrie.livejournal.com posting in

Fluff. For Cae.

Title: Aches and Pains
Author: Colin d'Marines *snicker*
Pairing: Ryan/Colin
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Real people, fake situation. Don't own, don't sue.
Notes: Utter sap.

Ryan ached.

He didn’t think that there was a part of his body that didn’t, from the tip of his head down to his toenails. Even his eyelashes seemed to have sprouted nerve endings. Thankfully, his fever seemed to have abated for the moment, and his stomach seemed like it might eventually decide it was on speaking terms with him again. In a week or ten, maybe. He was hopeful.

It had been like this for almost the past two weeks; the cold, or flu, or whatever the hell it was sitting down like an unwelcome houseguest and making itself comfortable in his body. He’d tried to brush it off, tried to doctor himself with potions and nostrums, but last night, his body had thrown in the towel, and the rest of him along with it.

He lay currently on his back, trying to snuffle air through completely blocked nasal passages, but soon gave that up as a lost cause and parted his lips instead, sipping at the warm, dry, burning air as if it were soup. God, he’d cheerfully murder someone for a cigarette, but his lungs, just about as filled as his sinuses, wouldn’t let him.

Sometimes, life just sucked.

He froze as he heard a soft shuffling sound, then felt a presence in the room. Gentle fingers tenderly stroked his hair, nearly sending him into orbit. “Pat?” he hazarded, eyes still closed. “Is that you?” He knew, somehow, that it wasn’t even as he asked. The touch was wrong, for one thing. More gentle even than hers. And the fingers, they were larger; the palm briefly cupping the back of his neck larger still, but soft.

His eyes drifted open of their own accord, then widened in amazement and not a little shock. “Colin?!?”

“Mm,” the tall Canadian replied, his lips curving upward in a small smile. “Right on the first try. Your eyes are working. How’s the rest of you feel?”

“My god,” Ryan breathed, gaze hungrily drinking in his friend. “What. . . ? How . . . ? Why..?”

Colin chuckled softly. “Drew. I’d called him about some Atlantic City dates and he let slip that you were battling the flu and pulling the macho act. And that Pat and the kids were gone for a bit. I figured I’d come over and try out my new Florence Nightingale impression on you. Sadly, you’ve caught me without my lamp.” His fingers threaded through Ryan’s thick, sweat damp hair again, stroking through it rhythmically, soothingly.

“But what about your touring?”

Colin’s smile broadened. “As we speak, Greg is gleefully plotting revenge on Brad for the stunt he pulled in Montreal.”

Ryan’s eyebrows shot to the top of his head. “You’re letting Brad and Greg loose on stage together without you between them to referee? That’s….”

“Crazy?” Colin shrugged. “Maybe. It’ll be interesting from the fan perspective, though.”

“They won’t like it if you’re not there.”

“They’re being offered ticket refunds. If they don’t like it….” Voice trailing off, he shrugged again. “There’s something more important I need to be attending to right now.” His eyes full of love, he gently trailed a thumb across Ryan’s dry, chapped lips.

“But….”

“Ry,” Colin said, tenderly, “it was my decision. I wanted to do this. The fans will cope, and Greg can easily handle Brad.” His dimples deepened briefly in a truly evil smirk. “In fact, I’ve asked Greg to make sure the first date is taped and that a copy is rushed off to us as soon as it’s over. I imagine it’ll be quite enjoyable.”

Ryan frowned. “You let him walk over you too much, Col.”

“Brad’s a doll,” Colin countered, sighing over the argument that’d become too repetitive lately. “He just gets a little…overenthusiastic sometimes. Besides, I’ve sicced Greg on him. If nothing else, when I get back, he’ll be so relieved, he’ll be treating me like the minor deity that I am.” He smirked again, ruffling Ryan’s hair.

“Nothing minor about you,” Ryan mumbled, arching his neck like a cat as he felt Colin’s short nails scratching gently at his scalp. “God, that feels good.”

“I aim to please.” Downstairs, a timer dinged. “Speaking of which, how’s your stomach holding out? Can it handle some broth?”

“Yours?”

“But of course,” Colin replied with a deliberately atrocious French accent.

Ryan grinned. French was the one and only accent Colin could do well. For him to deliberately butcher it to make him laugh was sweet in the extreme. “I won’t turn it down, mon ami.”

“Best that you don’t, cheri.” Bending over, Colin pressed a kiss to Ryan’s overly warm forehead, then brushed their lips together before withdrawing his hand from his friend’s hair and stepping away. “After you’re done with the broth, we’ll see if you have the strength for a shower.”

“Are you saying I stink?” Ryan asked in mock offense.

“My petite frammage, you are as sweet as any flower,” Colin joked. “But your sheets, they are le steenkay, non?”

Rolling his eyes, Ryan also shook his head against his pillow. “Save it for your night gig, Chef Boyardee.”

“Oui, oui, mon capitan.” Tossing him a smirk, Colin withdrew from the bedroom.

Ryan felt himself relaxing and truly happy for the first time in two weeks. Much longer than that, if he was going to admit the truth to himself. He loved Colin with all that was in him, and he missed him terribly over the long lonely months that they were apart, but the real impact of his absence was most strongly felt in his presence; in his sheer vibrancy, tenderness, absolute, boundless trust, strength and love.

Why are we both still married anyway? he asked himself for perhaps the millionth time. With a sigh, he gave up that particular line of questioning once again. Maybe we’ll get it right next lifetime.

He could only hope.

******

Late that evening, Ryan lay curled against Colin’s back, spooning the deeply asleep man to his body and rubbing his palms over the soft hair of his chest. His belly rode contently on the wave of warm broth sitting in it. He felt clean for the first time in weeks, and lying on clean sheets with his love of thirty years wrapped in his arms was a comfort that couldn’t be found anywhere else in his life.

And if he wouldn’t wish his sickness on anyone, and he wouldn’t, the crap he’d put up with was more than worth it if he could have this in the end.

Sad, the way the world had to work sometimes, but if making different choices earlier in his life had meant that he wouldn’t have this man in it at all, he’d bless every decision he’d ever made just for the chance of holding him close and feeling his love.

Fini