vigorli

This little bit of nuttiness came from the prompt "stuffy noses" from

queen_mean_jean! I think the people at work thought I was losing it when I started scribbling notes and muttering and giggling to myself... ^_^ Of course, that was before I claimed a donut for myself by licking it. Luckily, they were amused and not freaked out. *snicker* But at least now they know I'm insane, but in a good way!

Title: Stuffy Noses
Author: Ranmaru
Rating: PG-16 (for language and references!)
Summary: Orlando is sick and Viggo's fed up because...
Discalimer: Don't know, don't own, just playing.

Viggo paused outside of the bedroom and took a deep breath. He could hear Orlando sniffling, each wet sound followed by a sad little whine. At first it had been almost amusing. It was the first time he’d ever had to take care of a sick Orli and he’d naively imagined spoon-feeding the Brit chicken broth and cuddling the younger man to sleep.

He hadn’t imagined what he’d ended up with.

Viggo sighed and rubbed his temples. He had a headache coming on, a nasty one. And he knew it wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. His oldest, rattiest, softest and loosest sweatpants and t-shirt felt too rough on his skin. His throat felt swollen.

Orlando sniffled again. And again. Viggo stalked into the bedroom.

“Just blow your nose, for Christ’s sake.”

Orli glared at him blearily as he wiped his reddened nose with the edge of the sheet. “I would if I could,” he replied, his voice raspy and nasally. He held up an empty tissue box then let it fall to the floor.

The Dane grit his teeth. He grabbed the box of tissues from the back of the toilet and brought it back to the bedroom. And threw it on the bed at Orlando’s feet. “Here.”

Orli rolled his eyes and heaved himself up, grunting with the effort as he reached for the box. “My hero,” he said sarcastically. A sniffle ruined the effect. He blew his nose but it did nothing to make Viggo feel any better.

“What I put up with for love,” the older man mumbled, scrubbing his hands through his hair.

“Poor, sick boyfriends.” Orli fell back to his pillows with a sigh.

“Truly amazing amounts of whining,” Viggo told him.

“One hundred and two temperatures,” Orli retorted a bit heatedly.

“Puke patrol.” Viggo almost gagged at the memory of the night before.

“Sore throat from puking and coughing.” Orli even pointed at his throat in case Viggo had forgotten where it was.

“I bought lozenges,” Viggo said. “At fucking midnight,” he added when Orli opened his mouth.

The Brit paused then continued, “Stuffy noses.”

“Pissy attitudes.”

“I’m sick,” Orli tried yelling, but it only came out as a hoarse stage whisper.

“You’re a fucking princess. Take a shot of NyQuil and sleep it off!”

“What the hell is your problem?!”

Viggo crossed his arms and glared. “Nothing.”

“I’m projectile vomiting at random intervals and my head is so full of snot it’s about to explode. I’m not just doing this to piss you off.” Orli pulled the blankets up until Viggo could only see his red nose and glassy eyes under a mop of tangled, chestnut hair.

“I know.”

“Asshole,” came the muffled insult.

“Yeah.” Viggo looked up at the ceiling as he let his arms flop to his sides.

“Go away.”

“No.”

“Why not? You obviously don’t want to be here. If you get sick-“ Orli was coming out of the blankets as he spoke but froze when Viggo said-

“Too late.”

“What?”

“I have a fever,” the Dane confessed, the admission seeming to make his body temperature rise and sapping all of the energy from him.

“Oh hell,” Orli muttered. He pulled back the blankets on Viggo’s side of the bed and the older man dropped like a stone.

“Guess we’ll have to tough it out,” Viggo said, turning his head to face his lover.

Orli snorted as he arranged the blankets over Viggo. “I’m a princess, remember? I’ll just lie here and waste away. You tough it out.”

“Sorry, I don’t feel good.”

“I know.” Orli patted Viggo’s back with one hand and pulled out another tissue with the other.

“Maybe I’ll call Henry.”

“He can’t get sick,” Orli said after blowing his nose. “He has classes. Call Exene.”

“That’s not nice.” Viggo chuckled though. He’d gotten sick once when they’d been together. She’d tossed him a bottle of Tylenol and told him to call her when he was feeling better.

“No it’s not. And since we both feel like shit, you can’t even punish me by fucking me unconscious.” Orli snuggled down and turned on his side to face Viggo.

The Dane considered that, gave an experimental rub against the mattress and sighed. “Kill me now.”

“I am honestly enjoying your pain,” Orli said cheerfully, perhaps the first upbeat sound he’d made in days. Part of Viggo smiled at that, the very very small inside part of him that didn’t feel like smothering the Brit.

“This is your fault.”

“You’re complaining and you’re not even projectile vomiting,” Orli said rolling his eyes. Viggo didn’t remember him actually projectile vomiting, but the younger man was adamant about that fact so he just let it go. “Get back to me when you see your spleen in the toilet. For now, just shut up and let me sleep.”

Viggo rolled to his side and yanked at the blankets. “You’ve kept me awake for two days and infected me. You’re not allowed to sleep.”

“I think you were right. I need NyQuil.”

“No, I was wrong.” Viggo grabbed at his lover who was sliding backwards towards the edge of the bed. “Hey! Where are you going?”

“Bathroom – to puke and medicate.”

Viggo let go and watched the Brit wobble his way to the bathroom. Luckily, it was off the master bedroom and not down the hall. Viggo wasn’t sure if Orli could have made it that far without help…and the older man wasn’t sure if he could give it. “Gargle,” he called out then hissed as the sound reverberated in his head.

“No,” Orli called back. “I’m going to keep my breath as disgusting as possible just to annoy you.”

“Stop enjoying this,” Viggo grumbled, trying to find a comfortable position. He pressed his forehead into the pillow but then he couldn’t breathe and he turned his head to watch the bathroom door. He grimaced when he heard Orlando getting sick. That’s what he had to look forward to. He whimpered and pulled the blankets tighter around himself. He wanted to strip down to his underwear, but he didn’t have the energy.

“Kill me now,” came the pathetic little plea from the bathroom. The toilet flushed. After a moment Viggo heard Orli brushing his teeth.

“You wouldn’t kill me,” Viggo said when the younger man reappeared, pale and staggering back towards the bed. “And I asked first.”

“I can’t live without you,” Orli muttered, crawling up from the foot of the bed and collapsing, face mashed into his pillow.

“Bullshit.” Viggo pulled the blankets from under his prone lover and covered him back up. “We’ll die together,” he decided, and poked Orli in the head. The Brit moved to look at him, eyes half-shut.

“That sounds nice.” He hummed sleepily. “Always thought we’d be grey-haired and wrinkly though.” He chuckled. “And it’d be a double heart-attack. When we’re fucking.”

“I don’t have the energy to even attempt it,” Viggo said on a sigh. “But it sounds nice.”

“Mmm.” Orli shifted. “Here,” he said and shoved something at Viggo. The Dane reached under the covers and felt a bottle. It was the NyQuil. He hadn’t even seen Orli carrying it.

“My hero.”

“I know.”

Viggo drank straight from the bottle, capped it and stuffed it under his pillow for later. Just in case. “Why couldn’t it have just been food poisoning?”

“You’re not that lucky.” Orli frowned at him. “And I’ve had food poisoning. I almost died.”

“You can die from the flu.”

“One can only hope.”

Viggo inched closer to Orli who eyed him suspiciously. “I have a headache.”

“Yeah.” Orli found his lover’s hand and brought it to his lips. “You’ll be puking by dawn.”

“Thanks, Nostradamus.”

Orli smiled and Viggo closed his eyes only to open them when Orli softly called his name. “Vig?”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry I got you sick.”

“No you’re not.”

Orli gave a wheezing huff of laughter. “No, not really. But…it’s nice to have someone to suffer with.”

Viggo rolled his eyes but even that hurt. “Go to sleep. And don’t breathe on me.”