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JC/Ricky ficlet: [ Sick Call ]
Just a little ficlet for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
darkseaglass, as reward for writing, and in hopes of inspiring her to do more :) *snugs*
Title: Sick Call
Pairing: JC/Ricky
Rating: None
It’s the door opening that finally wakes JC up enough to realize how hot and miserable he feels, but he can’t wake up enough to do anything about it. Hopefully whoever’s coming in is friendly, and not hell-bent on robbing him, or something else equally unpleasant.
He’s almost drifted off asleep again when he recognizes the voice calling his name.
“Come on, Caro—best place for you is bed.” Ricky’s face swims into view and JC blinks a couple times, because isn’t Ricky somewhere that’s not here? Touring. He’s touring, and he’s—
“Why’re you here?” He mumbles finally, fever impeding his ability to figure out where it is Ricky’s supposed to be. Besides not here.
Ricky just shrugs. “Got a call from a friend, said you were being an ass about taking care of yourself.”
That’s even weirder than Ricky being here, because who the hell would call him? Who knows he’s sick, even? “It’s just the flu,” JC says, pausing to hack up a lung. “Or something like it, anyway. Really. I’ll be fine in a day or ten.”
“Mmm.” Ricky’s hand, usually so hot, feels positively cool, and JC hums along with him and considers wiggling closer. “Been to the doctor?”
“Seriously, no, not going. They’ll wanna stick me or something.” Talking is hard work when his brain is dying from heat stroke. The words keep dancing away. Oh. Now JC’s picturing a line of letters doing the can-can across his brain. Ricky frowns when he giggles, and tugs on JC’s arm.
“Up, c’mon. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Sounds good.” Really sounds good. He doesn’t get to see Ricky nearly enough.
It’s slow-going, getting him up off the couch and then up the stairs and JC has to wonder why he thought two-story houses were a good idea. For a minute he can’t even remember which house he’s in, until Ricky mutters something about hating that he can’t smell the ocean this far inland in Florida.
When JC’s tucked into bed to Ricky’s satisfaction, exhaustion bleeding out of him and making him wobbly, cool lips brush a kiss across his forehead, and a low, honey-rich voice whispers something to him in Spanish. Not for the first time JC wishes he spoke it better, though he thinks he caught ‘te amo’, and he knows well enough what that means.
“Me too,” he mutters, eyes closing against his will. “Stay a while?”
The bed dips beside him, then Ricky nuzzles his throat. “Si—as long as you need me here.”
Gonna be forever, then. Sounds good to him. JC smiles, mostly asleep, and curls in toward Ricky. Maybe being sick won’t be quite so bad as he’d originally thought.
~fin~
darkseaglass, as reward for writing, and in hopes of inspiring her to do more :) *snugs* Title: Sick Call
Pairing: JC/Ricky
Rating: None
It’s the door opening that finally wakes JC up enough to realize how hot and miserable he feels, but he can’t wake up enough to do anything about it. Hopefully whoever’s coming in is friendly, and not hell-bent on robbing him, or something else equally unpleasant.
He’s almost drifted off asleep again when he recognizes the voice calling his name.
“Come on, Caro—best place for you is bed.” Ricky’s face swims into view and JC blinks a couple times, because isn’t Ricky somewhere that’s not here? Touring. He’s touring, and he’s—
“Why’re you here?” He mumbles finally, fever impeding his ability to figure out where it is Ricky’s supposed to be. Besides not here.
Ricky just shrugs. “Got a call from a friend, said you were being an ass about taking care of yourself.”
That’s even weirder than Ricky being here, because who the hell would call him? Who knows he’s sick, even? “It’s just the flu,” JC says, pausing to hack up a lung. “Or something like it, anyway. Really. I’ll be fine in a day or ten.”
“Mmm.” Ricky’s hand, usually so hot, feels positively cool, and JC hums along with him and considers wiggling closer. “Been to the doctor?”
“Seriously, no, not going. They’ll wanna stick me or something.” Talking is hard work when his brain is dying from heat stroke. The words keep dancing away. Oh. Now JC’s picturing a line of letters doing the can-can across his brain. Ricky frowns when he giggles, and tugs on JC’s arm.
“Up, c’mon. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Sounds good.” Really sounds good. He doesn’t get to see Ricky nearly enough.
It’s slow-going, getting him up off the couch and then up the stairs and JC has to wonder why he thought two-story houses were a good idea. For a minute he can’t even remember which house he’s in, until Ricky mutters something about hating that he can’t smell the ocean this far inland in Florida.
When JC’s tucked into bed to Ricky’s satisfaction, exhaustion bleeding out of him and making him wobbly, cool lips brush a kiss across his forehead, and a low, honey-rich voice whispers something to him in Spanish. Not for the first time JC wishes he spoke it better, though he thinks he caught ‘te amo’, and he knows well enough what that means.
“Me too,” he mutters, eyes closing against his will. “Stay a while?”
The bed dips beside him, then Ricky nuzzles his throat. “Si—as long as you need me here.”
Gonna be forever, then. Sounds good to him. JC smiles, mostly asleep, and curls in toward Ricky. Maybe being sick won’t be quite so bad as he’d originally thought.
~fin~
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Love darlin, lovely.
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