14
by Mickey M.
© January 2004

for turps33

So hot. He didn't remember being so hot like this before. Everything was fuzzy, blurry, and he ached, and god he was thirsty. A beer sounded good. Or maybe just a tall glass of ice cubes, poured straight down his swollen throat. Which was on fire. Maybe that's why it was so hot? He stumbled, stubbed his toe against something - door? wall? and tried to remember where he was and what he was doing. Oh, yeah. Hot, thirsty, water, drink.

He was going to the kitchen.

"Chris-what're you doing out of bed, man?" Cool hands touched his shoulders, and Chris blinked to make the face in front of him swim into focus. It did, then out again, making him even dizzier.

"Thirsty," he tried to say, except it came out kind of slurred. "Let go of me-thirsty!" He pulled away from green lights blinking at him - lights? eyes? - and the face swam back into focus again. "Lance?"

"Yeah. C'mon, let's get you back in bed." The hands...Lance...steered him backwards, and Chris had no choice but to go. He was grateful when Lance turned him gently so he could walk forward. If he was actually walking, and not floating. He felt kind of floaty. Floaty and on fire.

"Thirsty."

"I know. Lemme get you settled, and I'll get you something to drink. I'm sorry, Chris. I just ran out for a minute for some more juice. You were sleeping, or I wouldn't have gone."

The sheets of his bed felt cool and soft against his hot, prickly skin, and Lance's fingers were gentle, stroking across his forehead. He muttered something about hot and deserts, and his sore throat, and when were they going gambling, and Lance chuckled, a low, rich sound that made him feel cared for. Loved.

"Only you would get strep and think you're in Vegas, man." Another gentle touch, and Chris closed his eyes. "Gonna get you some juice and Tylenol. Be right back." He was, thought Chris thought his sense of time might be a little skewed too, because everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. The juice burned going down, but felt so good, sliding down cool and tart, he didn't care. He drained the glass, Lance holding it carefully for him, then relaxed back against his pillows.

The bed dipped beside him and Chris grumbled at the movement, making his head and throat hurt worse. Fingers combed through his hair and he sighed and leaned into the touch. They were wonderfully cool against his burning skin. Something soft and damp ghosted across his forehead, then his mouth, and that low, rich voice washed over him again. "Sleep, baby."

He slept, and dreamed of Vegas and cool lips brushing over his.