Male Elliott one-shot (M)

[gay-for-the-snz]

Just a quick thing with my Fallen London OCs  I hope you enjoy it!

 

 

 

“Mum?” Warren walked into the bedroom, tugging at the hem of her nightgown, lion toy clutched tightly to her chest. “It’s time to get up, Mum, what’re you doing?”

“Iisch! Iisch’uh! Hih’uptsch! ...sdeezi’g.” Elliott mumbled tiredly, emerging from his lump of blankets to squint at Warren. “Where’s Dad? Cad’t he help you with whadever you deed?”

Warren cringed at the sound of his voice. He sounded horrible. “Dad’s at work. Your voice sounds funny.” She tugged harder at her nightgown, wishing she could see him and know what to do. Stupid eyes that didn’t work.

Deciding to forego manners for a moment, Elliott grabbed one of the handkerchiefs form the pile on the bedside table, blowing his nose into it. Both he and Warren cringed at the sound, but neither dared comment. There was an unspoken rule that they would simply pretend it hadn’t happened. He was thankful that, at least for the time being, he could speak clearly. “What did you need, Rennie?”

“Are we gonna eat?” She seemed suddenly ashamed to ask this question, when he was so obviously suffering, but Esmee had only taught her a little bit about baking, and none of it could actually work for breakfast. Or lunch, for that matter.

Realisation dawned on him as he looked at his pocket watch. Good Lord, it was nearly one in the afternoon! “Lord have mercy…” He muttered, rubbing lightly at the corners of his eyes to try to soothe the headache gathering behind them. “Of course we are. Let me just...j-just...hh’uupsch! Hh’ptsch!” He groaned, giving a pitiful little sniffle. “Let me just get dressed first.” He finished, reluctantly leaving the warm nest of blankets he had made himself, occupying both his and Corben’s side of the bed. “Did Dad set out clothes yet or is it my day to pick?”

“It’s your day. Dad already went to work.” She frowned, crawling up onto the bed and tugging him over by the shoulders. “Close your eyes, Mum.”

“What are you doing?” Elliott closed his eyes regardless.

Warren reached out, pressing a small hand to Elliott’s forehead. “Oi, Mum, you’re burnin’ up! Like ‘ellfire under your skin!” She gasped, recoiling from his feverishly hot skin. “Get back in bed. Artie and I’ll make breakfast, an’ ‘e can ‘elp me pick my clothes.”

Elliott’s breath caught in his throat, his nose an angry shade of red, scarlet nostrils flickering with the need to sneeze. Tears gathered in beads on his lashes, chest rising and falling with each feathery, threatening breath. In a swift motion, he had thrown a blanket over Warren and twisted as far away from her as he could. “Hh’utschuh! Upsch! Hh’UP’sch!” He snapped forward with each sneeze, feeling as if he practically gave himself whiplash each time.

“Bless.” Came the muffled voice beneath the blanket. She didn’t struggle, even though she had been thrown under one arm like a piece of luggage. She knew he was suffering, so she forgave the action. This time.

“Thank you, Warren.” He sniffled miserably, wiping at his streaming nose. He pulled the blanket off of his daughter, revealing her slightly grouchy face. “Turn that frown upside-down, pumpkin pie. I’m going to get us some breakfast.”

“Mum, you’re sick as a pup. Artie and I can make eggs, we know ‘ow to do it.” She pushed her mother toward bed, irritated that he wouldn’t just go to sleep. “Where’d Artie get off to?”

Arthur crawled out from under the bed, arching his back and yawning, “Right here, kid. Why are you two so needy? I’m trying to nap.” He hopped up, regarding Elliott with disgust. “You look worse than rubbery men.”

“Gee, thanks.” He frowned, pulling his quilt around himself with a huff.

“I’m sure ‘e looks dashing, like a right proper Mum ought to look.” She put her stuffed animal into Elliott’s arms, picking up Arthur in its place. “You can ‘old that if you wanna ‘old somethin’.” She explained, her hands on her hips. His heart melted at the sight. She was precious, and he appreciated that she wanted to take care of him and prove how big and adult she was. Her drive for maturity was truly charming.

“Thank you very much, Rennie. Are you sure I can hold onto him?” He hugged the lion close to his chest. It smelled like Arthur and Warren, and it was comforting, just having the knowledge that she entrusted him with something so important to her as to have her scent in its fabric. It reminded him of stealing Corben’s constable coat, or wearing his dirty shirts in the morning.

“Not if you keep askin’ questions.”She scolded. “C’mon, Artie, we’re going to make eggs like Euleyis taught us.”

“Which one?” He asked lazily, knowing full well who she was, but refusing to acknowledge they knew her.

“The thief lady, up in the Flit. We tried to rob ‘er and she caught us and taught us to pick locks and make eggs, and-and we got my cloak with ‘er, and she told us the story with the frog and the princess and the chicken ‘ouse with the Baba Yaga witch.” She frowned, combing her fingers through his fur.

“Ah. That one.” He said flatly.

Suddenly, Warren was aware of snoring, realising Elliott had fallen back asleep, congested snoring escaping his parted lips. She smiled a little, and put Arthur down, crawling into the bed beside him and giggling when he groggily pulled her into a snuggle. She closed her eyes, settling in beside him and laying still, eventually nodding off as well.