[identity profile] sungreen70.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] wl_fanfiction

Another pure fluff piece. It's what I do best :-) (I'm working on heavier stuff, honest!). This one came from the WL ep where Ryan was sick and then Chip jumped on his back during "Hollywood Director". I was thinking about how I'd like to take Ryan home and give him a little TLC... then I started thinking how I'd like COLIN to give him the TLC ;-) So I wrote this. Nothing deep here, but I enjoyed it. 

Title: The Best Medicine
Author: SunGreen70
Rating: PG (a little m/m cuddling)
Pairing: Ryan/Colin
Summary: Ryan was already under the weather when Chip jumped on his back during a game of "Hollywood Director". After the show he's home in bed needing a little TLC. 





He was dying. 
 
There was no way around it. He would not survive this brutal combination of pounding head, queasy stomach, and raw throat, all the while alternating between shivering and sweating. Staring moodily at the bedroom ceiling, he pulled the blankets tightly around himself against yet another chill and waited for the inevitable end.
 
It hadn’t been a good day, to put it mildly. He’d gotten up that morning and immediately wished he hadn’t. But there was a taping to go to – the last one of the season – and it couldn’t be put off because of a cold. At least that’s all it had seemed to be this morning, but as the day progressed, he’d felt sicker and more miserable with every passing moment until he was certain he’d contracted some fatal disease. And having that little twit jump full weight onto his fragile back during a skit hadn’t helped matters any, he reflected grumpily. He’d very nearly passed out then and there but managed to recover, and despite the pain, finish the show on auto pilot, with the others stepping up to cover for him when necessary.
 
At least his back was better. He was pretty sure he’d walked off the worst of it by the time they’d finished taping. The pain had subsided to a dull ache, barely noticeable now that he was in bed with blankets piled on top of him. The illness, on the other hand… He sighed, partly from exhaustion and partly from annoyance at finding himself laid up at home instead of out celebrating at the end of season wrap party. He was sorry to miss it, but there was no way he could have made it any longer without collapsing.
 
Hot now, he pushed the covers off, only to drag them back up almost immediately when he began shivering again. He groaned in frustration and closed his burning eyes. There was nothing left to do but wait and see which specific ailment would bring about his untimely demise - if the thermometer under his tongue didn’t kill him first. The sharp end stabbed the skin connecting tongue to jaw, causing more discomfort than the fever it was measuring. He’d longed all day to climb into bed where, if death wouldn’t come to put an end to his misery, at least the peaceful oblivion of sleep would take him away from it for a while. But he wasn’t to be allowed that small release without first having an instrument of torture stuck in his mouth. Although it was better than the other option offered to him when he’d complained, he conceded wryly. Exasperated, he brought his hand out from under the covers and tried to shift the damn thing to a more comfortable position.
 
“Leave that alone.” Despite the admonishment, the voice that spoke coming back into the bedroom was mild. Caught, he dropped his hand, but didn’t open his eyes. The face was etched so deeply in his mind that vision wasn’t necessary to see it. A cool hand was laid on his forehead, then his cheek, before mercifully removing the thermometer from his mouth. “A little high,” was the verdict. The hand smoothed his hair. “Poor baby.” The words were teasing, though affectionate. So he wasn’t THAT sick. Maybe he’d live after all. He forced open heavy eyelids to gaze at the face above him, earning a warm smile for his efforts. “You’ll be all right in a day or two.”
 
“Don’t count on it,” he pouted. But he smiled sheepishly, and squeezed the hand that was now holding his. The gentle pressure was returned, and then the blankets were being lifted enough for a warm body to slide in next to him, and take him into strong arms. 
 
“You’ll catch it,” he protested weakly. But even as he spoke, he was shifting his body to curl up against the familiar form, seeking comfort in the embrace.
 
“Shhh.” Lips pressed against his forehead and fingers twined through his hair. With a deep sigh, he let his head fall into its’ favorite position, snug in the smooth hollow between collarbone and shoulder. For the first time all day, he felt himself relaxing completely. “Sleep now,” the soft voice urged.
 
He was already almost there. But he clung to consciousness long enough to speak the words that were foremost in his mind; that were never really far from it.
 
“I love you, Colin.”
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