by Costa, Bella
"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.
"This one; I think it's called 'The Heart Asks
Pleasure First'," he murmurs.
"I like this one too, but I can never figure out if it's happy or sad."
"It is a powerful score. I would say it's both."
I am soon caught up in the spell binding story. At some point during the film, Chayton has fallen asleep and slipped down, his head on my lap. It feels so natural and it is only when he starts snoring lightly do I realise that I'm stroking his hair. Not wanting to disturb him, I leave him there and carry on watching the film.
~.~
26th March
I jolt awake. It takes a few moments for me to digest my surroundings. The sun is making an appearance through a thin slit in the heavy burgundy drapes. My head is buried deep in a soft pillow and a warm comfortable weight is pressing down on my belly. I rub my eyes and the weight on my midriff shifts.
Shit, I must have drifted off. How and when did I end up under the covers? Last thing I remember I was sitting on top of the covers. I sit up slowly, shifting Chayton's head from my belly, onto his pillow and stand tenderly.
My ankle is healing well. The swelling is on its way down, or though it still has a long way to go, I note sadly. I can almost put my weight on my toes. I just can't put my foot flat on the floor. I would have thought the opposite to be true, but clearly my medical knowledge has holes.
Other than that, I feel remarkably rested. I check Chayton over quickly. He is still very warm but sleeping peacefully so I head for the bathroom down the hall and have a quick shower, scrub my teeth and pull on fresh sweats and a camisole and find a really thick pair of socks.
I head to the kitchen and set about making a soft breakfast. I decide on oats with dried fruit and a tall cranberry with a little salt for Chayton and oats with coffee for me. I quickly scoff mine down, then balancing his tray on one upturned palm and hobble down the hall to his room.
He is stirring when I enter and I put the tray on his bedside table.
Chapter 5
"Good morning." He sits up and rubs his eyes while I open the curtains to let the sun stream in.
"Breakfast?" he asks, rubbing his eyes.
"Yes, breakfast. Eat up! How are you feeling?" I look him over from a safe distance.
"Like I've been hit by a truck. You don't need to do this you know, but I'm glad you're here," he ends softly and I offer a small smile, not sure what to say to that. He squirms on the bed trying to get comfortable and winces.
"Chayton?"
"It's nothing, I'm just uncomfortable." He pulls the tray onto his lap and eats his oats slowly, occasionally sipping his cranberry juice. "The cranberry is nice, but is it me or is it a little salty?"
"It is salty; you've been sweating a lot. You need to replace some of the electrolytes or you'll get dehydrated."
"Oh, thanks doc. The oats are good too by the way."
I sit on the armchair watching him eat. Even sick, he is beautiful. The muscles in his shoulders and arms flex and ripple every time he brings the spoon or glass to his mouth. He puts the tray back on the table and I get up to take it back to the kitchen. When I return, the bed is empty.
"Shit, fuck!" he calls from the bathroom for a second time in twelve hours, but this time, without the alarming bang. I tap on the open bathroom door, before peering in.
"Oh!" I duck my head back out again. "I'm sorry. I thought... I um..." Oh crap, could this be any more embarrassing? "Are you okay?"
"No, I'm not fucking okay!" he sounds positively mad.
"What is it?"
"My bloody balls are killing me and well - they don't look or feel right! I need to get to a hospital!"
I expel a huge relieved breath. "Is that all?" Well that would explain why I caught him with a handful.
"What do you mean is that all?" he protests, approaching the door. "Look at them!"
I am about to tell him that that is not necessary but he appears in the open door way stark naked, a mix of anger and fear morphing comically across his face with his testicles cradled protectively in his hands. I quickly turn my back, failing to suppress a grin.
"It's not funny! This is serious woman."
"Chayton, calm down and stop being a baby! You have the Mumps. Swollen, um...testes...is a common - and I've heard uncomfortable, but usually harmless - complication.” I affirm.
For a long while, he stands quietly behind me and I can hear his breathing. Finally he speaks, calmer and quieter this time. "You're sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. A compress might make it more comfortable. Maybe you'll feel better talking to the doctor on the phone?"
"No. It's okay. It's just a shock that's all," he grumbles and I note with satisfaction that the tables have turned on the humiliation stakes.
I hear him moving about the bathroom and I start to relax a little, waiting for him to come out.
"So you've seen a few of these cases then?" he calls.
"I told you yesterday. I used to help at the bush clinic. Yes I've seen a few cases of mumps."
"Including swollen balls?" I catch a playful tone in his voice.
"No, I haven't actually laid eyes on swollen balls but yes, quite a few patients used to walk funny for a few days." I grin.
"So what were you saying about a compress?" he asks, waddling out the bathroom, his snug pair of Kelvin's not leaving much to the imagination. He really does have a nice ass.
"I'll go and get you a bag of ice and some more water. I think you can handle another dose of pain relief." I try my best to control the grin that is tugging at the corners of my mouth again as I watch him try to get comfortable in the bed. I can see the sweat starting to sheen on his forehead and my amusement fades. I know he is in for a second round of fever as his body fights the spread of the infection. As long as it does not get to his lungs or heart, he will be just fine.
I return a few minutes later. He quickly swigs back two painkillers and I hand him the bag of ice. He holds it uncertainly, as if trying to decide exactly what to do with it, causing me to grin again.
"Are you laughing at me," he grumbles.
"You are easy to laugh at. Just put the bag over the swelling however feels the most comfortable; and um, not inside your shorts unless you want to add frost bite to your list of complaints."
He scowls at me and the bag disappears under the sheets. "How the hell do little kids cope with this shit?"
"Well actually, they don't seem to get it as bad as adults." I straighten his blankets.
"Oh. Lucky buggers! Will Bo and Luke suffer any long lasting effects?"
He slides down until he is prostrate on the bed, both hands on his crotch. I study the utterly sincere expression on his face as he settles his head on his pillow.
"Bo and Luke? You've named your nuts?" He winces, then grins at me proudly.
"My child hood heroes, Dukes of hazard. Inseparable, mean drivers and girls find them cute as hell. They also share my appreciation for a good pair of Daisy Dukes."
"Is that all you've named?" I smirk.
"Well there is also General Lee. Bo and Luke need something to drive and the girls need something to drape themselves over."
"Great - always wanted to meet a penis called General Lee." Shit that didn't come out right. "You do know that Daisy was their cousin, right?” I follow up quickly.
"Incest is a game the whole family can play! Besides, I was referring to the shorts."
"Says you," I smile tucking him in snugly. He is showing me a completely new and unexpected side. A side I like very much. "Sleep while you can, it's probably going to be a long day if your fever starts up again."
"Why aren't you using both your crutches?"
"It's hard to carry trays of food and bundles of laundry around, with both hands operating crutches. Besides, as long as I take it slow and don't put my foot flat, I can manage all right. It's healing nicely."
"I'm sorry." A shutter has closed over his face and he frowns. "And thank you."
"For what?"
"Sorry for putting you in this position and thank you, for looking a
fter me."
"Hey I'd be bored stiff otherwise. Anyway, you did save my life.” I shrug. "You'll be on the mend in forty eight hours tops, the pass will be open and my ankle should be good enough for me to drive. Then we can both get back to our lives."
"Will you move the shelter here?" he asks squirming to find a comfortable spot under the blanket. Savannah must have told him. I focus on a torn nail as I speak.
"I don't think I'll move it as such. We still need a place in the city for short term and emergencies but yes, I think it will be a great place for our more long-term tenants - especially those with kids. I should know more later today."
When I look back down at him, he is fast asleep. I leave him to rest.
~.~
I have pulled the armchair closer to the bed and I am sitting in it with my bare feet up on the bed, contract and pen in hand. I am reading the terms of the offer. Every now and then, I jot down a note or a question only to find my question answered or my concern alleviated in another clause later on in the document. By the end, all my notes in the margins have been crossed off. Overall, the contract appears sound. We would be insane to turn the offer down. That alone bothers me.
Chayton is quiet for the moment. I need to set up the conference call with Victoria and Grant. I head back to my room down the hall and dial Grant.
"Grant, hi."
"Oh, hi Acacia. Just hang on; I have Victoria on the other line.” I hear a series of beeps and then both Victoria and Grant on the line.
"Hello Acacia. I trust you are enjoying your holiday in the mountains?” Victoria teases.
"Hardly! I'm going to need intense therapy when I get back, so be prepared!” I grumble. "Let's get to work." I don't want to go into details with Grant on the line.
As it turns out, Victoria has managed to talk to a few contacts who are directly involved with other charities under the Liberal what's-it umbrella. I still can't say it comfortably. Everything is checking out and by the end of the conversation we've all agreed to accept Liberal-what's-it's offer. Grant will go ahead and contact the Goblin from Gringott's. I describe the facilities at Donavan's pass, but express the obvious concerns, like the lack of access every time there is an avalanche or landslide. There is no news on any other front and I realise that I have only missed one working day. Gosh, it feels like I've missed at least a week.
