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John came home and quickly stepped inside the foyer of the Castle, shaking his damp umbrella out as he closed it. He wiped his boots off on the mat and sighed, grateful to be out of the miserable weather. Thunder crashed outside and the frigid wind howled as it blew the rain sideways. It was times like these that John was especially thankful for the Castle’s size and warmth. He picked up the groceries he’d gone into town for and carried them to the kitchen, starting to put them away. It was only then that he realized something was off.
It was far too quiet in the Castle. There was no loud music blaring at an ear-shattering volume, no singing, not even the sound of the television or pool balls from the game room. John frowned as he put away the last of the groceries and padded out of the kitchen.
“Thorne?” he called, his voice echoing in the stillness. “Are you here, love?”
There was no answer except for another boom of thunder that shook the Castle. John went upstairs and began searching the rooms he thought Thorne was likely to be in-the game room, the recording area, the wine cellar. John bit his lip with worry. He finally went to the bedroom and was relieved to find Thorne there. The bassist smiled and entered the room further, but his relief was quickly replaced by concern as he neared his boyfriend.
Thorne was starfished out on their bed, his back rising and falling slowly. John slowly sat down beside his boyfriend, noticing that Thorne’s breathing sounded thick and raspy. The bassist reached out and placed a hand on his boyfriend’s back, rubbing gently.
“Thorne?” John asked softly.
The singer made a noncommittal sound and shifted in his sleep but didn’t wake. John moved his hand to Thorne’s hair and stroked it, then lightly shook the singer’s shoulder. Thorne whined and rolled over, blinking blearily, his eyes heavy with sleep, smudged eyeliner making him look like a sleepy raccoon. He blinked a couple more times and it seemed to take him a moment to focus on John.
“Baby?” Thorne croaked, his voice hoarse.
“I’m here, love,” John replied soothingly. “Are you alright? You don’t look so good.”
Thorne shook his head and sniffled. His face was flushed, high points of colour in his cheeks, and sweat gleamed along his forehead, his black hair sticking to his brow. John pressed the back of his hand against Thorne’s cheek, then his forehead. He nearly jerked away when he felt the burning skin beneath his hand.
“You’re hot,” John said with worry.
“I know that,” Thorne replied, trying his trademark smile, but it didn’t extend to his tired eyes.
John rolled his eyes fondly and cupped Thorne’s cheek in his palm. “You’re burning up, love. I think you’ve caught that flu that’s been going around.”
“I can’t be sick,” Thorne grunted. “I don’t-”
He started coughing raggedly, his whole body shuddering. His coughs sounded wet and thick, his nose running like a river. The singer sighed and closed his eyes, slumping back down against the bed. John stroked his boyfriend’s sweaty hair.
“Don’t worry, love,” he said softly. “I’ll help you through this.” He brushed a hand through Thorne’s hair. “First we should get you showered and changed. You’ll be more comfortable that way.”
Thorne whined at the idea of moving and pressed his face deeper into the pillow. John rubbed his back.
“The hot water will make you feel better,” he said. “It’ll help with the congestion and body aches.”
Thorne sighed through his stuffy nose and reluctantly lifted his head from the pillow. John guided him to sit up and led him across the room to the bathroom. Thorne leaned heavily against his boyfriend with each step. In the bathroom, John sat his lover on the closed toilet and turned on the shower, letting the water get nice and hot, steam filling the room and fogging up the mirror.
“Come on, love,” John coaxed. “I’ll help you.”
He helped Thorne to his feet and stripped him out of his clothes, tossing them into the hamper beside the door.
“Can you stand in there with me?” Thorne asked, eyeing the shower uneasily. “I dunno if I can hold myself up.”
John nodded and removed his own clothes, then stepped into the shower with Thorne. The singer leaned against his boyfriend beneath the warm spray, his back to John’s chest. The bassist smiled to himself and grabbed the bottle of shampoo from the shelf, pouring some into his hands and washing his boyfriend’s hair, pressing his fingers into Thorne’s scalp. The singer purred at the attention.
John cupped a hand over Thorne’s eyes and rinsed his hair, then used a washcloth to clean the smeared makeup from the singer’s eyes. John switched off the water and helped Thorne out, wrapping him in his black silk robe and sitting him down on the toilet again, using a thick, soft towel to dry his boyfriend’s hair. John slipped on his own robe and took Thorne’s hand, leading him back out to the bedroom. The storm was still howling outside.
John dressed Thorne in black shorts and a white tank top from his drawers. The singer yawned hugely.
“M’tired,” he mumbled.
“I know,” John replied.
He dressed himself in boxers and left the room for a moment, then came back with a glass of water and a couple pills in his other hand. He offered them to Thorne but the singer stared at them dubiously.
“They should help bring your fever down,” John explained. Thorne shook his head stubbornly. John sighed. “If you don’t take these, I’ll get the liquid stuff.”
The rock star grunted and took the meds, swallowing them down with the water. He flopped down onto the bed and curled up on his side, bringing his knees to his chest. John laid down beside his boyfriend and pulled the blanket over them. Thorne instantly wrapped himself around the bassist like a snake. John pulled his lover closer, one arm around the singer’s shoulders to stroke his hair, their legs tangling together beneath the covers.
Thorne fell asleep quickly, his breath ghosting across John’s bare chest in warm waves with each exhale. He still sounded a bit congested and his brow tightened with pain. John frowned with worry and pressed his fingers into the singer’s scalp, applying gentle pressure to ease his boyfriend’s pain. It was oddly peaceful, curled up in bed, warm and cuddling his boyfriend close while the weather raged outside. John stayed awake for a long time, staying vigilant over his sick lover.
Thorne slept for about four hours and he groaned as he started to wake up. His beautiful face was pulled into a harsh grimace of pain, his jaw tense as he gritted his teeth. He whimpered and buried his face in John’s neck. The bassist worriedly rubbed his lover’s back and pet his hair.
“What’s wrong, love?” he whispered.
“Head hurts,” Thorne groaned. He shivered and pressed closer to John. “S’cold in here.”
John licked his lips and moved to get out of bed. Thorne whined and clung to him tightly like a koala. The bassist stroked his boyfriend’s face, feeling his heart break at the sad, downtrodden look in those fever-bright eyes.
“I’ll be right back,” John said. “I promise.”
Thorne blinked and reluctantly let him go. John kissed his forehead and got out of the bed. He approached the fireplace and grabbed the box of matches on the mantle, lighting one quickly. He lit the wood and picked up the poker, stirring the logs around until there was a steady blaze, cracking and popping like popcorn in a microwave. John set the poker aside and then left the room for a few minutes, heading downstairs.
He returned with a hot water bottle wrapped in a cloth, as well as a small bowl of water and a flannel. He sat down on the bed and set everything on the nightstand. Thorne had dozed off whilst he’d been gone but he stirred when he felt the bed dip. John picked up the hot water bottle and placed it beneath Thorne’s head on the pillow. The singer softly at the warmth easing the pain in his skull.
John dipped the flannel into the bowl of water, wrung it out, then gently patted it along Thorne’s forehead and the sides of his flushed face. The rock star shivered and tried to squirm away, but John made a soft shushing sound and held the cloth against Thorne’s forehead. The singer exhaled deeply and relaxed. John continued to bathe his lover’s face, wiping away the sweat and stroking his hair back from his forehead.
It unnerved John, seeing Thorne like, so quiet, so vulnerable. He was always so loud and outgoing and boisterous. Now he looked so fragile. But there was also a part of John that was slightly grateful that Thorne trusted him and was comfortable enough around the bassist to let himself be seen like this. John knew that that sort of thing could be scary for some people. He patted Thorne’s face a few more times before setting the flannel aside and crawling beneath the blanket again.
Thorne nestled toward him unconsciously and nuzzled his face against John’s chest, over his heart. John carded his long fingers through Thorne’s hair, feeling how soft and silky it was without the product in it. The fire crackled, throwing russet light and dancing shadows across the walls. The storm was still going on but seemed to be dissipating. John kissed Thorne’s forehead and pressed his nose into his boyfriend’s hair, closing his eyes as he breathed in the familiar scent of his lover.
Both men slept into the evening and all through the night. The next morning, John was awakened by the shifting of the bed, the warmth in his arms and pressed against his chest moving around.
“John?” Thorne rasped.
The bassist’s eyes fluttered open and he found himself staring into his boyfriend’s. Thorne offered a small but genuine smile. His eyes were more alert and his face no longer looked red or flushed. John grinned and reached out, caressing his boyfriend’s cheek.
“Good morning,” he said. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” Thorne replied. “My head and body don’t ache anymore.” He inhaled through his nose. “And I can breathe better too.”
John pressed his hand to Thorne’s forehead. “It looks like your fever is gone too. What time is it?”
“I don’t know,” Thorne admitted. “Early, I think.”
John looked around the room, Bright rays of sunlight winked through the curtain and the fire was now smoldering embers. Rain was still pattering outside, but it was calmer than it had been the night before. John yawned lazily and so did Thorne.
“You should go back to sleep,” John said. “You’re still recovering. When you wake up I’ll get us some breakfast.”
“You should rest too,” Thorne replied. “You must be tired after babysitting me all day yesterday.”
John arched an eyebrow and caressed Thorne’s neck. “I wasn’t babysitting you. You’re my boyfriend. It’s my job to dote over you when you’re ill.”
Thorne’s smile brightened and he kissed John very lightly on the lips. John cupped his boyfriend’s face in his hand, stroking the skin beneath his eye.
“I love you, Baby Boy,” Thorne said when they parted, pressing his forehead to John.
“I love you too,” John returned.
Thorne laid his head back down on John’s chest and closed his eyes again, tucking his head beneath his boyfriend’s chin. John kissed the top of his lover's head and smiled against his hair. Thorne fell asleep quickly and his chest rose and fell in rhythm with John’s as they held each other close. They were in their own quiet, tranquil bubble of love and trust. And they relished it.