Everyone Needs a Little TLC (14 parts) COMPLETE - M/M

[•.*°•☆. Q .☆•°*.•]

omg omg omg omg i'm so excited to see what happens next oh my goodness i love when you update

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

I just wanted to add my praise to the mounting pile. I am completely intrigued by the plot. Can't wait for more updates. You are definitely building the suspense and the tension between these two.

[Arty]

Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!! The tension.

[Quite Contrary]

So this is fabulous...and I am completely in love with the mysterious Bayle. I think I'll just sit here and wait hopefully for more to appear.

[starpollen]

I've been really busy at work this week so this part is short - there is more written but I haven't had time to respond to all your comments like I want to. I'm so glad you all are enjoying it!

The story is going to a very dark place that I hope doesn't come off as too out-there or unrealistic... But it's feeding my own H/C craving nicely!

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PART 5:

I drove carefully through the sleet-slicked streets, thankful for the absence of other drivers on the road. This wasn’t a part of town I came to often, even when I was growing up here as a kid. But I found the address easily. Cindy was right: the house did look like it was about to collapse. Peeling paint, overgrown dead grass, cracked windows, vines sliding their sinister fingers up under the sagging roofline…

There was no woman smoking on the porch, but the temperature had dropped enough that I wasn’t surprised. I mean, I knew how smokers could be – my Uncle Ross used to go out for a cigarette every hour on the hour, regardless of the weather – but the drizzling sleet was picking up strength, promising to turn into a bona-fide ice storm by nightfall.

I parked on the street, making sure to lock my doors three or four times as I carefully picked my way up the broken sidewalk to the house.

There were no lights on behind the dirty windows, so I couldn’t see if anybody was home. I pushed the doorbell button. But I didn’t hear anything inside to tell me it worked. So I knocked. No answer. I knocked again.

And – don’t ask me why I did this – I tried the handle.

It opened.

“Hello?...” I called hesitantly as I let the battered and half-rotten door swing into the room, bringing with it a sudden gust of icy wind. “Anybody home?...”

I probably should have been prepared for what I saw… but I wasn’t.

Old mattresses. A broken couch missing some of its cushions. Spray paint on the walls. A horrific smell of urine and animals and mold. Trash was all over the kitchen and the floor. I almost didn’t want to step onto the carpet because I didn’t know what my foot might sink into.

But I heard muffled coughs coming from the hallway that led toward the back of the house, followed by a wrenching, wet sneeze.

“Bayle?” I called, swallowing hard and creeping cautiously into the crunchy, squidgy mess.

The coughs stopped abruptly.

I tried not to touch the walls with my hands, noting streaks of various colors dripping down them, using my elbows for balance as I stepped over piles of clothes that seemed melted and rotted to the floor. This was hands-down the most foul place I had ever been in.

Until the room where I found Bayle.

He was laying on a bare, stained mattress, parts of it obviously eaten away by furry pests. The piles of trash and clothes and filth were knee-high, the stench even more concentrated than it had been in the front rooms. He was shirtless, wearing those same ratty jeans, his scarred back facing the door. There were some new red slashes vivid-bright against the dark ink, newly crusted over. He was curled up, possibly for warmth – there weren’t any blankets in sight – trying not to cough and failing.

“Bayle?”

He sucked in a sharp gasp and froze. I watched as his back muscles tensed into hard cords under his skin.

“Bayle?” I repeated, starting to step into the room.

“Stop it.” His voice was rough and harsh, threadbare in that way a throat gets during a bad cold when you’ve been coughing all night long without drinking any water.

“Huh?” I stopped in the doorway, confused.

“It’s not real,” he whispered bleakly, sounding like he was talking to himself.

“What’s not real?” I asked gently, taking a deep breath and slowly picking a path across the filthy room toward the bed.

A head-to-toe shudder went through him.

“You.”

A hoarse, cracked whisper, so soft I barely heard it.

“Me?” I breathed in reply, stopping just shy of the mattress, afraid to shatter the moment with too much sound.

“You’re not real.”

I knelt behind him, not touching anything. “Why am I not real?”

All I got was another hard shiver, and his attempt to curl more in on himself as he coughed raggedly, stretching the tattooed, wounded skin on his back and cracking open a couple of the scabs.

I couldn’t stand it anymore – I reached out and laid a hand on his muscular shoulder.

He jerked violently, giving a startled cry as his body twisted and shot up to a sitting position so fast I nearly fell over. Crab-crawling until his back met the nasty wall, his blue eyes so wide I thought they might pop.

“Hey! Take it easy!...” I crooned, hands raised in surrender, watching as sweat broke out on his forehead and he took in air in huge gulps. A slash of sunlight from the broken blinds fell right into his face, which was ashen, eyes overbright, looking out from bruised hollows. His nose was cherry-red-rimmed, full lips parted slightly so he could breathe.

This was the closest he had ever let me get to him with full light on his face, without a curtain of hair obscuring his features. He looked so young. Not a day over 22, if I guessed right. Maybe younger, but I didn’t think so with the extensiveness of his tattoos…

“Wh-whatd…” he croaked, swallowing painfully. “Whatd are you doingk here??” The thickly congested words combined with the sheer panic in those sapphire eyes made my heart hurt.

“You didn’t come to work today,” I explained softly, slowly easing forward just to be closer to him. “Cindy asked me to come find out why you didn’t call her to let her know you weren’t gonna make it.

His wide, blue gaze shot to the door, as if he expected someone to appear at any moment.

“You cad’t sday here…” he whispered urgently, flicking those glassy cobalt orbs back and forth from me to the doorway in rhythmic dread. “You godda… godda ged oud…”

He moved his leg, and that’s when I saw it.

A rope.

There was a rope tied around his ankle.

The other end was tied around the rusted metal radiator. Dread washed through me like cold fire, burning away any sense of propriety or social boundaries.

“Bayle.” My voice was hard, rimmed with razors. A chilling voice I’d never heard before. A stranger’s voice. “Why do you have a rope around your leg?”

His eyes darted back to the doorway in answer. This was the rabbit I had seen the other day, the one who cowered and trembled in anxiety and fear. I had no idea why he didn’t just untie himself and walk out of here, but I had a feeling that his illness combined with the obvious beating his back had taken - and whoever he feared was about to come through that door - had something to do with it.

“Please,” he begged. “Please ged oud…”

Something in me snapped.

“We’re both getting out of here,” I barked, reaching for his ankle and clamping one hand roughly on the ripped denim, holding it there as the other reached into my coat for my pocket knife. It’s a small town; all of us have carried pocket knives since we were boys.

“Ndo!” he cried out, panicking even more, thick fingers scrabbling to find purchase on my wrist where I held him down, trying to break my grip. “You cad’t!... She’s... she’ll…”

“SHE??” I roared, jerking the knife through the thick, greasy rope so hard I cut it with one swipe. I was surprised I didn’t cut my own thumb off; if I had, I doubt I would have even felt it. “I don’t care if it’s Almighty God or Satan himself about to come through that door, YOU ARE NOT STAYING HERE.”

He flinched, and something in him caved, shoulders curling inward as his chin dropped to his chest and his arms crossed over it, protective and familiar.

It sickened me to see it.

In that moment I made a silent promise to myself never to see him like this again: sick, terrified, and so achingly alone. Something had happened to this boy, something heinous and unforgiveable that had gone on for far too long with no justice or mercy in sight.

Rage flooded me in its volcanic avalanche, giving me strength I had never before possessed and allowing me to scoop him up and get him to his feet, shoving both of us into the hallway. I chanced a glance at his face as I half-dragged, half-carried him toward the front, his face frozen in a mask of terror, hope… and the anguish of an oncoming sneeze.

“Hhuhh…” he panted heavily, seeming to try to hold it back, fighting as his twitching, flushed nose begged for relief. “Hhuuhhzzh… nng...” I was so focused on getting us out of that rat-trap I didn’t let myself pause to watch him as it built.

But I regretted it as he jerked to a stop abruptly in the middle of that pit of a living room, twisting away from me as much as my grip on him would allow, bending at the waist with the long, drawn-out, punishing sneeze.

“HEHHhhh!!....---NGGXZTSsshhh—uu!!... ugh…”

It ended in a weak groan. So I took the opportunity to shrug out of my coat, shoving his arms into it and wrapping it tightly around him. His face was slack with post-sneeze-languor: mouth hanging open, eyelids drifting at half-mast, twin streams of thick yellow-green snot trailing down to his upper lip almost into his open mouth.

“God, you’re a mess,” I murmured, gently pushing his hair back and kicking myself for not snagging some tissues before I left work. What can I say, I was never a boy scout. Instead, I pulled his arm up and used the wool coat-sleeve to gently wipe the mess as best I could. “Come on. We’re getting you out of here.”

Suddenly, his eyes went cliché-wide as saucers, skin ghosting several shades paler as he stared at the front door.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house??”

Edited July 29, 2015 by starpollen

[Arty]

O_o

Omg....who would-

What the-

;A;

[StaraiRoalanstjay]

OH. MY. GOD.

I never expected this! Not in a million years did I expect anything like that!!!!!

[jezebel215]

:-) thoroughly enjoying this story!

[truth]

woooah this part. plot twist. I'm. Next part pls !!! what is this im BAYLE NO

[meepsy]

Ohh my heart my heeeeeeaaarrt! This part honestly was wrenching to read, but in a way that speaks well of your writing prowess (it doesn't hurt to know that everything will turn out okay in the end though!!) Oh my god, Bayle... I seriously want to kill whoever just walked in the room. Thank goodness Travin came to the rescue!!

I am on the edge of my seat with this for real. The tidal wave of h/c is looming so close i can feeel it!!!

[starpollen]

WARNING: Potentially offensive things in this part. Stomach sickness, offensive language, etc.

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PART 6:

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house??”

Under my hands, Bayle began to tremble violently, trying to pull away.

I turned, seeing a large red-headed woman with a cigarette in her hand, staring at me with blatant hatred. Almost as tall as I was (which was a feat) and thick - definitely muscled, not fat - she filled the room with a forceful presence that bordered on the vicious. She didn’t look old enough to be his mother: maybe in her mid-30s. An aunt?... Surely not a girlfriend… Her hair color was definitely bottled and not natural, her makeup thick, eye shadow too-blue white-trashy. She wore skin-tight leggings and high heeled boots, a stained sweat shirt hanging off one body-builder shoulder.

I have to pause for a moment and say that I am not a person who likes conflict. I actually try to avoid it whenever possible – even to the point of sometimes of being considered cowardly or negligent. But today? in this filthy place? with Bayle obviously terrified of American Gladiator Harpy here?… Something in me rose to the surface.

Some ancestral Viking, perhaps.

“It really isn’t any of your business,” I growled, already strategizing on how to knock Redzilla out of the way while keeping a grip on my cold-ridden rabbit who cowered behind me shaking nearly to pieces, AND getting us both out to my car without the police becoming involved. Although, I kind of doubted she would be the one calling them.

Her pinched face twisted into an even uglier sneer. “You’re one of his fucking faggot friends, aren’t you?”

At the word ‘faggot,’ Bayle flinched so hard he nearly fell backward; only my grip kept him upright. His breathing was harsh, panting so hard he was almost hyperventilating.

The shock of it hit me, too. And not just the harshness of hearing that completely offensive word. Somehow I hadn’t allowed myself to consider the possibility that Bayle was interested in men. It seemed too much to hope for that he was this devastatingly attractive to me AND available…

“What do you think you’re doing?” she continued, hands curling into fists. “He’s not going anywhere with YOU.” The way she said that simple last word turned it into something ugly.

She took a step toward us, intending to do… I don’t know what. But I barreled headlong at the front door, yanking Bayle behind me hard enough that he stumbled and fell into my back as I rammed her, elbowing hard at her stomach and shoving her down onto a pile of trash.

Where she belonged.

I got Bayle to the car, both of us practically skating as the sidewalk began to ice over with sleet. I pushed him down into the passenger seat and barely remembered to make sure all his limbs were inside before I slammed the door shut, jogging around to get in the driver’s side. One of the few times in my life I was grateful for my height and long legs. My heart was hammering so hard in my chest I was sure the whole neighborhood could hear it echoing off the frost-covered trees.

As I peeled out, tires squealing to find purchase on the slick road, I saw the woman come out onto the front porch, arms raised. I was sure she was screaming something at us.

I didn’t give a shit.

We drove for a few minutes in silence, putting as much distance between us and that nasty house as I could.

“Bayle,” I called to him, daring a glance away from the icy road to check how he was doing.

The attitude and fight that he had shown me when we were in the storeroom had been shockingly absent in this particular encounter. And now, taking in his gray pallor and wide, glassy eyes… the way his teeth were chattering slightly… I recognized the symptoms of shock.

I jacked the heat up in the car, reaching over and trying to find his hands in the longer arms of my coat.

“Bayle,” I repeated, more insistently this time. “Bayle answer me.”

“F-f…” he tried, the taut muscles of his body jerking uncontrollably under my palms as he shook. “… g-…”

I was watching him as closely as I could out of the corner of my eye while we drove, which is how I managed to catch that his throat was working convulsively.

I pulled over just in time.

He jerked the car door open and fell to his knees, emptying the meager contents of his stomach. I threw the gears into park and rushed around, kneeling beside him in the icy grass and supporting his shoulders, keeping him from pitching face-first into his own mess.

“Easy,” I murmured soothingly, rubbing a light hand on his back as he gagged. “You’re okay… you’re okay…”

Now I was really kicking myself. No tissues, no water… No game plan of any kind. This situation had escalated waaaayy beyond my wildest imagination. I had thought I was simply going to check on a co-worker: a chance to see him again, maybe having an opportunity to talk to him more and feeding my inner fantasies. Never had I considered that I would be executing a full-on rescue mission from an insane, steroid-stuffed she-demon in a decrepit House of Hell.

When he was done, I guided his hot head to lean against my shoulder, softly continuing to mumble reassuring nonsense as he fought to regain his breath. His eyes were watering, shoulders shaking with a few stuttering coughs. I was pretty sure he was running a fever.

“h’k… g’DZChtt!” His whole body shivered with it.

“Bless you.”

“…eh…KDNXggssch’hh!! –u”

“Bless you again.”

A low moan.

Pulling him away from the messy ground, I placed my hands on his shoulders and gently tipped him back into the passenger seat, lifting his legs and setting his feet on the floor board. I tried not to notice more yellow-green congestion creeping out of his scarlet-flushed nostrils, swiftly making a plan in my head for how to get him cleaned up and cared for. Carding my fingers lightly through his sweaty, unwashed hair, I ran my fingernails across his scalp in a way I particularly liked someone to do to me. I was rewarded for my efforts when those exhausted cerulean slits slid shut, pale, pinched expression smoothing out as he gave a soft sigh.

I got back in the car and called Cindy.

Cindy is kind of a busy-body, and certainly wasn’t pleased when I informed her that I wouldn’t be coming back to finish my shift. She asked a lot of questions that I didn’t bother answering, telling her only what I considered the 2 essential pieces of information she needed to know:

1. Bayle wasn’t at home on his Xbox. He was definitely sick. No, he wasn’t going to make his shift tomorrow. Or the next day. He might be back by Monday. Or he might not. I couldn’t say for sure.

2. I wasn’t coming back to finish my shift. For personal reasons. No, I wasn’t going to tell her what those were.

It was Thursday. I had a long weekend coming. And – glancing at the blond half-asleep in my passenger seat, his shaggy golden head resting against the fogged-up window – I had a pretty good idea how I was going to be spending it.

It didn’t take long to get to my house. It took a lot longer to get Bayle out of the passenger seat, up the steps to the porch, into the house, and into the bathroom. He wasn’t fighting me: he just wasn’t actively cooperating. His lack of response was worrisome.

I eased him onto the toilet seat, wetting a wash cloth in warm water and gently wiped his face. His eyes were still closed, lips parted and slack, shoulders hunched and stiff. I wanted to talk to him, to say something to get those gorgeous eyes to open and look at me – to see me – but I didn’t know what to say. So I stayed silent.

Cleaning up his lips and chin wasn’t hard. It was when I began brushing the cloth delicately against those damp, tender nostrils that I realized my mistake.

The rosy, inflamed rims began stretching, distended, the teasing tickle that had been nearly constantly wafting lightly through his sinuses over the last several days running its claws more insistently through the irritated membranes. My gaze locked on as I watched his nose practically vibrate, quivering for relief.

"Heh!...” His head tilted back, chin dropping further as his chest sucked in air to fuel it. He shook his head from side to side ever so slightly before tucking his head toward his chest, sneezing raggedly, uncovered, “eh-… hk'gtdsch! hh!... hap-byrscht!" spraying his lap instead of me. Then he snorted and coughed, trying ineffectually to sniffle the thick congestion up into the still-flaring, tickly nostrils that threatened to drip. "eyh... X'zzschtt!" He failed.

His face was a shiny hot mess all over again. But those fierce, wet sneezes seemed to wake him up a little, his watery eyes taking in his surroundings for the first time.

“Wh-…” he stopped to cough, congestion getting the better of him. “…where?...”

“My house,” I replied softly, suddenly seeing how this whole thing might look. I felt my cheeks get hot, knowing I was flushing red with embarrassment.

His blue eyes flicked to the wet washcloth in my hand, eyebrows raising, transforming his cold-ridden expression into one of yearning.

“Here,” I pressed it into his hand.

He closed his eyes as he raised it to his face, cleaning his nose up before folding it to a clean side and rubbing it firmly but slowly over his forehead, his eyes, and pressing it into his sinus cavities with a barely-breathed groan.

I realized his head had to be aching something fierce, feeling like it weighed at least 30 pounds, packed as it had to be with sludgy, thick congestion.

I reached around to turn on the hot water in the shower, cranking it full-blast. This bathroom was fairly small, so I knew it would fill quickly.

Bayle arched one golden eyebrow at me over the damp cloth.

“Steam,” I explained as my hands rested on the outside of his knees, rubbing the thin denim lightly. “Will help break up some of that crap in your head.”

He closed his eyes and gave a small nod, sighing, clearly welcoming that idea.

His legs tensed under my hands.

"Hegk'szdNXtschhu!"

Oh god…

“…bless you...”

He didn’t respond, listing slowly to one side and coming to rest against the bead-board wall with a couple more coughs.

If this cold didn’t kill him, it might kill me. Bayle’s sneezing was getting increasingly messy, wet, and torturous. Already my clothes were too tight, my skin flushed and tingling with want.

I left him sitting there with the washcloth pressed across the lower half of his face, sniffling weakly. I rummaged through my dresser and came up with a pair of boxers, sweat pants, thick socks, and long-sleeved T-shirt. Slipping back into the bathroom with him, I closed the door quickly to keep the rising steam from escaping.

Setting the pile of clothes on the counter, I leaned against the wall, making a valiant attempt to keep my distance and crossing my arms to keep them from reaching out to touch him again.

“Can you handle a shower?” I asked, trying not to let my enthusiasm bubble up and show in my tone of voice. There was nothing I wanted more than to have my hands on him under the hot spray, water cascading over that creamy skin and watching it flush a soft pink from the heat, my hands massaging suds into that shaggy hair...

“Oh god, yes…” the blond croaked, voice several fathoms deeper in the grip of his terrible cold.

It took me a second to realize that he hadn’t been responding to my thoughts. Only to the offer of a shower.

Come on, Travin, get it together...

Those hypnotic eyes were the only part visible in his cloth-covered face, gaze roaming over the clean, tile-and-granite surfaces. I knew it was a nice bathroom, a nice house, probably nicer than any he had ever lived in. I hoped it wouldn’t intimidate him into closing up on me. Or leaving.

Then I noticed the raw hunger in that languid gaze, a yearning for things that were shiny and warm and clean. I hoped that was a good sign he wouldn’t bolt.

“Okay,” I straightened, knowing I was stalling but unable to duck out quickly or to think of a reason to stay. “I’ll be right outside. Towels are here in the cabinet. Tissues here on the counter. I brought you some clothes…”

As if he couldn’t see all of those things for himself.

“…k…” That gaze had come to rest on the shower, hunger deepening. Clean. Warmth.

In a desperate attempt to have one last thing to do, I put my hand under the water to test its temperature. Scalding. I knew personally I would enjoy it – I like my shower boil-a-lobster-hot – but I didn’t want to have to take him to the hospital with second-degree burns. So I added some cold, adjusting it until it was lusciously warm but (hopefully) not too hot.

When I glanced back, he had dropped the washcloth and was slowly shrugging out of my coat, giving a few close-lipped coughs. My stalling had to end.

I slipped into the hall and closed the door behind me. Placing both hands flat on the closed door, I leaned my forehead against the wood and heaved a ragged sigh.

What the hell had I gotten myself into??...

Edited July 31, 2015 by starpollen

[luckyleprechaun]

His legs tensed under my hands.

"Hegk'szdNXtschhu!"

Oh god…

“…bless you...”

He didn’t respond, listing slowly to one side and coming to rest against the bead-board wall with a couple more coughs.

If this cold didn’t kill him, it might kill me. Bayle’s sneezing was getting increasingly messy, wet, and torturous. Already my clothes were too tight, my skin flushed and tingling with want.

LOVING THIS.

[Arty]

It's killing me!!!!!!! Ugh!!! Who was that woman..? And the hell was she doing to him?

[Salamander]

Whoa there! What the hell?! What's happening? I am such a sucker for this kind of scene and you write it so so well, the image of someone so chilled and helpless is really wonderful.

[Sitruuna]

I can't believe I've forgot to leave a comment here.

Oh gods this is addicting. And awesome. Poor guy.

Also

I am eternally thankful for you for... describeing the mess a bit? As silly as that may sound.

Is "that cold is beautiful" an odd comment?

I'm glad to see you posting here again. Your stories really are great.

[truth]

I seriously don't think I moved or breathed the entire time reading this. Except to whisper to my smol child Bayle 'it's okay my son'. and to Travin 'don't waste this hot cold'

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Fabulous up date! Can't wait to read more.

[starpollen]

Hey everybody! I'm SO GLAD you're liking this story! I've got over 45 pages of it, so this is promising to be something fairly epic... Not really what I set out to do when I started writing, but hey - I don't think any of us are complaining are we??

@ Artygirl22 - Unfortunately the details of Bayle's past are probably gonna be a while in coming, but I think you'll like what comes in between!...

@ Sitruuna - Both Travin & I think this cold is pretty beautiful too.

@ truth - Such good advice for our lovely Dr. Cohen!... I'm pretty sure he won't waste this, when our blond bad boy is feeling up to it

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PART 7:

While it would have been easy for me to stay leaned against the bathroom door while Bayle showered - listening to sneeze after gorgeous sneeze echo in the acoustically-perfect space every shower stall always became - I forced my arms to push my body away from its wooden cradle and stride purposefully into the kitchen.

I made soup.

Well, technically I opened a can and heated up soup, but you know what I mean.

And I made toast.

Okay, fine, technically I only heated that up, too. What can I say, I’m no Paula Deen.

But when Bayle appeared in the doorway, ivory-pink skin scrubbed clean, hair brassy-damp and towel-mussed in a criminally sexy way, making my sweat pants and long-sleeved T look like they were on a model in a fashion magazine… I had hot soup and toast ready.

Which was good, because the way he leaned his muscled shoulder against the door frame and knuckled at his scarlet nostrils with one tattooed hand made me lose all control of my mental faculties.

“Thagks for the clothes,” he whispered, wincing a little as even that much sound scraped up his sore throat. The shower had helped with some of the congestion, but he was still obviously in the throes of a wickedly vicious cold. And he obviously didn’t know how the way he was looking up at me – stunning sapphire eyes guarded but grateful gazing through those dark-gold-tipped lashes – melted the core of my bones and turned all my insides into a hot and swirling muddle of conflicting emotions. Want, need, and desire churned amidst concern, caring, and coherency, two sides of me warring with each other about exactly how to tuck this sick man into my bed.

Because he was going into my bed. And if I had my way, he was going to stay there. For days.

It was up to the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other to duke it out as to the particulars of that arrangement.

“You’re welcome,” I managed after a few blank blinks. “Um… orange juice or hot tea?”

His arms crossed over his chest, head ducking almost shyly. “Tdea, please.” I noticed he had one foot tucked over top of the other, toes curled, like his feet were cold. It was adorable.

I had a huge pot of tea already heating for myself. “Sugar?”

He nodded, fist at his mouth for some more chesty coughs. Those also sounded better, but I knew from experience that it was a temporary relief. I needed to get some medicine down him so the symptoms would back off enough so he could really sleep.

And I could tell he needed it. Purple shadows painted the pale skin under his too-bright eyes, the faint flush of fever on his cheeks.

I had a thousand questions for him – about that house, about that crazy woman, about himself and his life…

And no clue how to ask even one of them.

First things first.

I added just a little sugar into the mug before filling it with steaming tea and drizzling in a ton of honey, carefully handing it to him. He sipped at it, closed his eyes, and gave a body-shuddering sigh of pleasure.

The shoulder-devil made a promise to make Bayle give several more of those before the weekend was over.

The angel gave me a proverbial slap upside the head.

“You need to eat something,” I grumbled, petulantly whining on this inside at said-angel.

“Bossy sodofabitch, ared’t ya?” Bayle quipped, a dark humor infusing his whispered words with mirth.

I flashed him a wicked grin. “You’re gonna find out, Mop Boy.”

He cocked his shaggy head and looked at me with those piercing eyes, once again making me feel like he was seeing right through to my very soul.

“Why are you helpig mbe?” he asked softly, genuinely baffled.

I blinked.

“Because I can.”

Those words made his expression harden, and I got the feeling that he had heard them before with a very different meaning.

“Because I want to,” I amended quickly, opening my hands and presenting them to him palms-up. “I don’t like seeing you sick, or hurt. I can’t explain why. I just don’t.” That swirling feeling was back in my gut, but I had a pretty good idea that this time it was mixed with a good dose of nervousness and embarrassment. “You need to be somewhere warm, and clean, where somebody can take care of you and help you get well.”

That same mixture of hope and dread snuck back into his face, the expression I had seen when I first dragged him from that nasty room at she-devil’s house.

“And I need to be the one doing it.” I finished softly, gazing down at him with what I knew was bald tenderness. I couldn’t help it.

The blond stared at me for another long minute, not able to believe or ready to accept what I was offering. Whatever that was. After that minute, he turned, intending to sit at the table where I had laid out the soup and toast, obviously wanting to avoid any further discussion of this topic.

But suddenly he froze, upper lip curling away from his teeth. One shaking hand fumbled to set the tea on the counter as his other came up to brutally knuckle his nose, a mewl of discomfort slipping from his parted lips.

I knew what was coming.

Whipping around, I snatched several tissues from a box I had grabbed from the pantry, holding them at the ready.

But Bayle wasn’t seeing them. He was too consumed with his writhing, twitchy, thoroughly-irritated, cold-ridden sinuses to do anything but stand there huffing towards what looked to be a devastating sneeze. Or ten.

I don’t remember doing it. One second I was holding the tissues, intending to put them in his hands. The next, my hand was cupping them to his face, catching the first sneeze as it wrenched itself from him, the layers of paper not sufficient to keep my palm from feeling the powerful, wet spray.

“HheDDZggK-k’SHHh!!!

His hands flew up to loosely cover mine, holding the tissues in place as his body continued to shudder with need. And then somehow my arm was around him, bracing his shorter, harder body against mine as the fit wracked him.

My body and I were going to have to have a serious discussion about its idea of reflex actions…

“eehHH-GZZDScch! … hh… hhhHHH!-- … HAH—TZZDchhH! –u … uhh--… HEHH???... uhH-GXNSCH-uu!...”

Each sneeze detonated through his body – and mine – like imploding bombs, with little quakes like aftershocks quivering in between each wet release. I closed my eyes and bit my lip hard enough to draw blood, barely suppressing the aching groan that fought to escape.

Bayle, you’re killing me…

When the fit was over, he took the tissues in shaking hands and attempted to blow, but I could tell that it wasn’t doing any good. Just thick huffing and snorting and coughs. But with him so close to my ear, I could hear the tiny whistle of a wheeze coming from his chest.

That snapped me back to reality real fast, my professional training coming to the forefront.

“You breathing ok?” I murmured softly. I had heard him cough – he didn’t have congestion in his chest… yet. This was something else.

“Mm.” Noncommittal noise.

But I’d heard that wheeze a thousand times over the years. I knew what it meant.

“Bayle, do you have asthma?”

Head down, his shoulders gave a small shrug. Not an ‘I don’t know’ shrug, more like an ‘it doesn’t matter’ shrug.

“Had it whed I was a kgid,” the younger man mumbled after a small silence, clearly not wanting to discuss any part of his history. The pharmacist in me filed that away. I didn’t have the condition myself, but I knew it could prove problematic if this cold decided to migrate to his chest.

I could feel him shutting down on me, closing up tight. So I didn’t push him. If it became an issue, we would cross that bridge when we came to it.

“Okay,” I spoke casually over top of his bowed, shaggy head, changing the subject. “How’s the tea?”

I was glad I hadn’t tried to ask anything more.

He sighed, opening just a little bit. “S’good. Thagks.”

My arm was still around his shoulders. Bayle didn’t pull away, but he wasn’t exactly at ease, either. Stiff. Like he was afraid to let himself relax. The blond wasn’t a short man by any means – probably around 5’10 or 5’11 – but I was taller enough that his head fit perfectly into the curve of my neck, which is where it slowly drifted to rest. What little strength and awareness the hot shower had given him was quickly draining away, and he was once again drifting towards exhaustedly passive. He leaned lightly against me, our bodies naturally fitting together as if this was how we’d been designed to stand since before we were born.

“…you’re s-so… warmb…” he rasped, sounding like he was talking to himself. Bayle turned his face into my shoulder, giving a couple of small congested coughs.

That hoarse, exhausted voice – filled with a yearning I’d never heard before… from anyone… – made warm ribbons do an acrobatic dance worthy of Cirque du Soleil in my stomach. I let my other arm come around him, pulling him close and wrapping him in that warmth he instinctively sought.

In response, he brought both hands up and tucked them between our stomachs, and I could feel the chill of his fingers through the fabric of my shirt.

My hands moved across Bayle’s hunched back, rubbing gently, trying to generate more warmth for the smaller body. The t-shirt fabric was thin enough that I could feel the cuts and scars criss-crossing the smooth muscles. My fingers found one that must have been one of the fresh ones, because he sucked a quick gasp of pain when I touched it.

“I’m sorry…” I winced, moving my hand away to another area. Then, “…can I take a look?”

His body freezing rigid-hard in my arms was my answer.

“Never mind, never mind,” I murmured, moved my hands to his shoulders, willing him to relax. When he did, giving a small shiver, I layed the backs of my fingers to his neck, frowning when I felt dry heat rising.

"Come on," I soothed. "Let’s get some food and medicine in you and then you can sleep."

He roused enough to scarf down the large bowl of chicken noodle soup and three pieces of toast I had set on the dark wooden table, dunking the toast into the broth to soften them enough to slide down his sore throat. The speed at which the food disappeared was astounding, making me wonder when he’d last eaten…

Finally, he finished the honeyed tea and got through half a glass of orange juice before his movements turned too sluggish, eyelids barely able to keep open as he started to fall asleep at the table.

“Here,” I measured out some liquid flu medicine that would help with his aches and fever, followed by some prescription cough medicine I had left over from a bout with bronchitis I’d had a few months ago. The expiration date on the bottle was still good, and I knew the combination of medicines would knock him out. I wanted to make sure he would sleep for a long time and give his body a chance to heal.

Between plastic caps, another wet sneeze shivered through him, and that signaled game-over for both of us.

“Let’s go, Mop Boy.”

Hooking a hand under Bayle's muscled arm, I pulled him up from the chair, tucking his hard body more firmly against mine. There was a slight tremble that rippled through him, but I was unwilling to spend time pondering what it meant. The shorter man's shaggy head thunked heavily back onto my taller shoulder, a huff of a sigh blowing out his parted lips.

I closed my eyes for the briefest of moments, savoring the feeling of his relaxed, drowsy body in my arms, before slowly guiding the two of us toward my bedroom. Bayle managed to shuffle one foot in front of the other, leaning into the arm I had wrapped around his back.

But when we got to the bed, he stopped, once again rousing enough to notice where he was. His whole body stiffened, and I suddenly could feel fear coming off of him in a hot wave. I had some flash of ESP that made me sense that he was thinking I was going to take advantage of him… violate him in some way…

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I murmured gently, trying to will sincerity to flow through my hands into his damaged ill body and up to his fearful fevered brain.

"Mbgm," he tried clearing his throat, seeming to need to ask something. But the vibration from his vocal chords must have buzzed through his irritated sinuses: his breath hitched almost immediately.

"HH! heh!-" A string of gasps announced his discomfort, "...heh-heh-heh!... hhh...?" But to both of our dismay it tapered off, leaving him to cough heavily, choking on the thickening congestion and rubbing petulantly at his sore, swollen, twitching nose with one pale, crooked knuckle.

"Lost it, huh?" I whispered sympathetically, rubbing his back. “I hate it when that happens.”

"Uh... huh--!” Another useless fit of hitching breaths left Bayle's summer-sky eyes tearing, the urge once again dissipating. He switched from his knuckle to rubbing the offending organ with his upturned palm, scrubbing more frantically as a small whimper escaped the back of his throat, wet, squelching sounds accompanying the vigorous rubbing. But the friction seemed to be making it worse, the sneeze still hovering maddeningly out of reach no matter how much he tried to coax it to come out.

It was the most agonizingly sexy thing I had seen in a long, long time.

Travin Levi, get a hold of yourself!...

I tried.

"Here..." I murmured as I gently pulled his hand away from the hot, glowing-red bulb his abused nose had become. "Not so rough. Sometimes it takes a gentle touch..."

I trailed off, setting the tip of one cool finger lightly to the chafed strip of skin separating Bayle's quivering nostrils. His golden brows drew together in concentration as I lightly stroked my fingernail along the delicate, irritated membrane in slow, tender sweeps.

His whole body began to tremble with need.

"hh??... hh!... …. HH!…. !!.... HEH!!-g'XNTsh!"

The first one ripped through him, blocked with congestion. It bent the blond nearly in half. But that pinched half-sneeze gave him no relief from the wild, desperate itch that burned through cold-ravaged sinuses. He barely managed to turn away from me, raising a shaky arm and aiming blindly for the crook.

"Hhgkk—XT’cgghssHzz!! ...”

These were slow in coming – torturously drawn out – each scraping sneeze consuming his entire being and causing what seemed to be every cell in his body to shudder in violent release.

"HhK!... nhhgk... hh--... Oh g-... god," he wheezed, trembling elbow still hovering over his nose and mouth. “Hh-iiih....! Uhh... egk'Huhh....Nnh'EK’ZZddSSCHh!

Finally, he all but collapsed into my arms as the fit passed, eyes shut in a grimace of pain, his legs shaking like a newborn colt's. I was sure that after that episode his head was pounding so hard he thought his brains might pulse out his ears.

“Come on, rabbit,” I crooned softly, snatching some tissues from the box on the nightstand and helping him clean up his nose. “You’ll feel a lot better after you get some sleep. I promise.”

I pulled back the covers and gently lowered him onto the cool sheets, once again carding my fingers through his soft, clean hair and skimming my nails over his scalp in that way I knew he liked.

He gave a weak huff in protest, arms fumbling ineffectually in an attempt to push me away. But the soft bed, warm blankets, and combination of clean and full and medicinally drowsy soon overpowered any flashes of fear or attempts to fight. I kept brushing my fingers through his hair, nails lightly grazing over his skin, willing him to relax. To trust me.

Within minutes he was sound asleep.

Edited August 16, 2015 by starpollen

[truth]

I love Travin's inner dialogue !! lovely sneezes, too. you update so quickly (thank you! It sounded like you already have a lot written?) I can't wait for the next part.

[SterlingSilver]

*skids in from off camera* GEEZ AM I LATE. SO MANY PARTS I HAVE MISSED <3

It's like, so late where I am right now and I am exhausted, but I had to come over here and comment because I read this latest part and coupled with the parts from before I just-.. *melts into goo*

UGH THIS POOR MAN. You do such a great job of dropping tiny little character details here and there for the reader to slowly absorb, and I also love the gentle interaction between Travin and Bayle! You definitely laid out the hurt, and the comfort is just so, so, so rewarding to read when we know a little about what Bayle has faced. And those drawn-out sneezes, oh my gosh. You are the sneeze-spelling Queen!

[Juto]

Uhm...so...yeah... I just woke... And read... And then... Oh my.... I don't.... I can't....I... This?! So... Uhh... Uhm... Yeah... I... Ohh... WOW!!!

I think I shattered I little bit. Your descriptions!!!!!!! The plot,!!!!!!!!! The characters!!!!!!! I just.... WOW!!!!!!!

[Arty]

*arty has died from copious amount of tlc and the hurt. ..*

So Imma zombie x12 cause I died that many times.....thanks.

[StaraiRoalanstjay]

I am LOVING this story!!! Poor Bayle! I really want to know who that woman is!!!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Yeah! *claps hands together rapidly* Love this up date. Poor Bayle, he is soooo sick. Travin is such a natural caretaker and clearly in his element. I see good things in their future. I hope that nasty woman doesn't show back up.

[happybunny]

BAYLE IS SO ADORABLE!! Thank you for the long update!!! The tender love between these two is reminiscent of lovers enjoying themselves... So hot!