Strung (8 page)

I check the time and decide to explore the gym before allowing myself a late lunch.  The gym is very well equipped.  I search through Savannah's closet for sweat pants and a
tee shirt and hit all the machines that do not require the use of an ankle.

Forty minutes later
I have showered, re-strapped my ankle and I am ready for lunch.  I decide to search out Chayton first to see if he wants to attempt a bowl of soup.  I find the door to the room I think Chayton has crawled into.  It is the only door in the left wing, which is closed.  I knock gently but get no reply.

Slowly opening the door, I poke my head into the room.  It is a huge room, bigger than Savannah's.  The furniture is all dark, heavy wood.  The white walls are broken by soft burgundy drapes and one wall is panelled in wood
.  I find him, facedown, on top of burgundy satin bed covers, still fully dressed. 

I swing into the room on my crutches, the plush cream carpet, absorbing the sound
.  He looks so helpless, lying there.  Very gently, I lean over and sweep his fringe off one closed eye.  They say cuteness is what separates reptiles from the rest of the animal kingdom.  Cute instils feelings of protectiveness in us.  It is the lack of cuteness, which explains why reptiles do not nurture their young, apparently.  Right now, I just want to gather this adorable creature into my arms, soothe his troubles away and make everything all right. 
No chance! 

"This wasn't quite what I meant, when I sent to you bed!
”  I complain waking him up.  He cannot sleep in those jeans, but he does not look in any condition to take them off himself. 
Well he will just have to.  I have limits.

"Chayton, stand up please."  I rest on my crutches, waiting as he struggles up.
  "Jeans off!" I order.  While he struggles with his jeans, I try not to look, but can't help notice his beautiful toned legs and the tightness of his butt cheeks as the muscles move under his boxers.  I am definitely hormonal.  I would not normally notice these things – well not in full Technicolor.  If I did, it would be a brief 'that's nice' and I would be able to push the thought out of my head.  Now, with this man, it is all I can think about.  I just can't get the frustrating thoughts out of my head.

I fold down the covers of his bed.  When
he is down to t-shirt and shorts, I gently push him onto the bed and fold the blanket over him.  I give the bucket a quick rinse in the en-suite bathroom before setting it back on the floor within his reach.  His neck has swollen a little more and I suspect it could still get worse.

"Do you think you could keep soup down?" 

"Uh-uh." 

"Very eloquent Chayton.  I'll go and make some
, just in case.  Get some sleep in the mean time."

I head to the kitchen.  The crutches are going to make life very complicated.  I ditch one of them to free a hand and search out some ingredients for a wholesome
homemade soup.  I will make a large batch and keep it in the fridge.  Yes, that is what I will do.  It can be warmed up as needed, over the next few days.  Soon I have a neat little production line going.  Peeling and chopping, reaching over to the sink to wash on my left and dumping in the pot on my right.  It is not long before I have the pot simmering away happily and my nose is back in my book.  

I am
putting the final touches to the soup and it is already getting dark when I hear noise down the corridor.  I head off in that direction to see what's up.

Chayton is lying in his bed, drenched in sweat, with the blanket pulled up to his chin. 
This is not good.
  A high temperature is normal but I do not need a thermometer to know he has a raging fever.  I need to try to bring his temperature down and his drinking water is finished.

Hobbling, with one crutch to the bathroom, I turn on the shower and adjust the temperature to lukewarm, I find a glass on the vanity and fill it will cool water from the sink and head back to the bedroom.

"Chayton, sit up."  He moans and tucks himself into the blankets tighter.  "Come on, up you get," I order firmly.

I gently tug the blankets and sheets and reluctantly he lets go.  He sits up, hugging himself tightly, his teeth chattering.  Shit the sheets are soaked through.  I pass him the glass of water and wait until he's polished it off.  He is obviously thirsty, hardly surprising given how much
he has been sweating but I can tell he is also struggling to swallow. 

"Come on, get up.  I need to get you into the shower."  Shivering
, he climbs out of bed, and shuffles to the bathroom with me following close behind.

"Chayton, get under the shower and stay there. 
Do not adjust the water temperature!  I'm going to change your sheets and find you something dry to sleep in."  I watch as he walks in clothes and all.  Oh well, his clothes were drenched anyway.

I find some dry bedding in the blanket chest at the end of the bed and lay a towel under the base sheet so the mattress
does not soak up too much sweat.  I spy an overnight bag on a chair next to the bed and find a fresh pair of Kelvin's and a clean t-shirt. 

"Shit, fuck!" his expletive echoes from the bathroom, followed by a painful sounding thump.
 
Shit, what now!
  I race clumsily to the bathroom. 

Oh my!
The sight is both comical and pitiful at the same time.  Chayton is sort of kneeling on the shower floor with his very clingy tee shirt stuck half way over his face, both arms tangled and struggling.  I take an extra moment to admire his tightly clenching stomach muscles as he struggles with his shirt.

"Hold still."  Obediently he stops struggling and sags.  I lean my crutch against the wall and hobble into the shower trying to stay out of the spray as much as possible.

"Arms above your head, straight please."  I tug at the fabric trying to lift it over his head and up his arms
.  Gosh, it is clingy!

Argh
! 
I have managed to free his head but I am still engaged in the battle of the century, to pull the fabric up the length of his arms.  Chayton head flops against my belly, his dripping hair soaking through my t-shirt. 

"Chayton no!  Shit!  Great!"  As soon as his hands are free, his arms wrap around my waist and to steady myself
, I am forced into the full spray of the shower.  I can feel the burn of his fever scalding me through the tepid water and damp fabric of my t-shirt.  I can also feel my own body temperature mount at the view of Chayton on his knees in front of me.

"Sorry," he grins up at me sheepishly.  "Just so tired...I need to sleep."

"Well you can't sleep in here.  Come on.  I've made your bed."  I turn off the shower and reach for a large bath towel, wrapping it around his shoulders, resisting the urge to run my hands over them in the process.

"Get yourself dry.  I've left you fresh boxers and a shirt on the vanity."

Still kneeling on the shower floor, Chayton starts to rub himself off, starting with his hair and working his way down.  I grab a large bathrobe and wrap it around my wet clothes to stop the water spreading everywhere else until I can get to my room to change. 

I am on my knees hunting for the bottle of painkillers I have dropped, when Chayton returns to the bedroom.  I flush as I notice the direction of his gaze toward my ass. 
Even when they are ill, they just can't resist.

  I order him to bed sullenly.

~.~

The NASA developed washing machine, takes a fair bit of figuring out, but eventually I have the complex digital settings sussed and the load of wet bedding is set to wash and dry.  I return to the bedroom and quietly clear up the empty dishes and bottles. 

Chayton is still sleeping peacefully.  I play with a bank of light switches until the room is in darkness, save for a pool of soft light over an armchair on the far side of the room.  Perfect.  I settle into the soft leather, to read under the soft glow and sip on my hot drink.

Every now and
then, he turns and moans in his sleep but doesn't wake.

~.~

I jolt awake, wincing at protesting stiff muscles.  I glance at my watch.  Two Am.  I hear Chayton muttering in his sleep.  I struggle up and wince again.  Hobbling around, the last twenty-four hours, has abused muscles not accustomed to being abused.  Finally upright, I hop the four steps to the bed.  Chayton's hair is damp and his face is covered in a fine sheen of sweat but I don't think his fever is as bad as it was earlier.  I pick up the damp towel from earlier and wipe is face softly with one end.

His eyes fly open staring directly at mine.  In that split second, I swear he can see right into my soul.  My thoughts, my dreams, my nightmares, all laid bare for him to pick through at his will.

I am caught in his gaze, like a wild animal caught in headlights.  I don't even notice his arms sneak out from under the covers, until two hands cup my face firmly, pulling my head down to his and his lips are on mine. 

I can feel his fever burning through his lips, scorching mine.  His mouth teases and toys with me
, a low sensual groan escaping from his throat; the desire in that simple sound igniting me instantly, making me gasp.  In a nanosecond, his tongue invades my mouth, steeling my breath.  My brain is still trying to jump-start when I feel his mouth relax and his hands slip away.  I pull back, stunned.  His eyes have closed and he is fast asleep.

OKAY!  Some people talk in their sleep, others walk.  Chayton here is apparently a serial sleep snogger.

I squirm uncomfortably on the bed, aware of the strength of my arousal.

"Chayton, wake up," I shake him gently.  His eyelids flutter and he slowly wakes; rubbing his eyes.  "Sorry to wake you but you're restless.  You need to drink some more
water and take another two painkillers.  Sit up." 
Sit up and kiss me again
.

He sits up and glances around the room, his mind still caught in threads of sleep.  He looks so vulnerable.  I hold out a bottle of water and two
painkillers on the palm of my hand.  He takes them without comment and downs all of the water.  I take the empty bottle, leaving it on the bedside table and when I glance back at him he is staring at me with a bewildered what-the-hell-just-happened, look on his face.

"What?"  I snap.

"Nothing," he responds sheepishly, a small shy smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.  His sheepish smile is cute.  Like a little boy who is really naughty but too cute to be angry at.

I wonder if he is remembering a very recent dream, the one he shared with me less than five minutes ago and I squirm again at the memory of his fevered kiss.  He may have been dreaming about a kiss, but I seriously doubt I was the star of the show. 
Lucky bitch – whoever she is.

"You're looking a little better," I grumble, plumping his pillow.

"I feel like death warmed up and served on very dry toast."

"Yeah?  Well sorry to tell you this, but you're going to be feeling pretty bad for a few days yet and you could get worse before you get better."  My mind runs through some of the less savoury complications that have been known to accompany a good dose of Mumps.

"Are you hungry?”  I ask.

"Not really."

"Fine, go back to sleep then." 

"You need sleep as well," he counters.

"I'm okay on the armchair."

"No you're not.  You need to raise that ankle and you'll get all sorts of aches and pains sleeping there.  Go to bed."

"You're too restless.  Besides, you get delirious when you have a fever.  I'll stay here."  He studies my face as I check the swelling on his neck.  It looks like this is as bad as it is going to get.

"If you insist on sleeping in here then at least sleep on the bed.  It is big enough."

"No.  I'll be fine," I insist.

"Alright,
it’s your body, but I don't want to sleep."

"What do you want?  Should I get you something to read?"

"Watch a movie with me."

"Okay, if you think you can make it to the living room."

"I don't need to."  Chayton leans over and digs in the drawer of the bedside cabinet, pulling out a small control.  He presses a button, I hear a faint click on the panelled wall and a section slides back revealing a large cinema unit.  He presses a few more buttons and the powerful, but haunting melody of the opening sound track for
The Piano
surrounds us.

"You like this?
”  I ask, surprised.

"Uh
-huh.  Please make yourself comfortable."  He pats the empty space next to him on the bed.  I can't watch from the small armchair.  It is in the wrong place.  Well I suppose if I am on top of the covers and he is underneath, it is no different to sharing the back seat of a car or a sofa.  I hobble around the bed to the other side and crawl onto the offered space, leaning back against the headboard.  It does feel good to get my feet up.

"What's your favourite track?
”  I ask.