Who: Alyssa and Christian What: Christian's ill and grumpy. When: 3/22 Where: Christian's flat Rating/Warnings: PG Status: Complete!
Christian wasn’t feeling well, and for once, he decided to treat himself. He’d finished the preliminary work for Gaz Garnier before he’d left work the other day, and he’d woken up with a minor temperature and some vertigo. He’d taken the opportunity to call in, and then call Alyssa. He’d asked her to do him a favour and bring him some ginger ale and things to fight a cold, and then decided to take a nap. Alyssa could just port in.
He’d fallen back asleep, dreaming, and Dreaming. His dream self smiling smarmily at Anastasia Steele, showing her of all things a fucking contract - this was BDSM, not some stupid morality film - and telling her that he had the absolute last word on everything in her life. The brainless twit seemed to consider it!
Christian jolted awake, irritated, dizzy - that damn vertigo - and a little frightened. Had Alyssa been and gone?
He turned to get up, and his hand crumpled on a thick sheet of cream-colored paper. He raised an eyebrow, grabbing it and starting to read. Barely a second had passed before he crumpled it, throwing it as far as he could through the bedroom door, curling up in his bed again in something approaching rage.
The door to his study glowed bright white for a moment before a redhead in a navy polka-dot dress stepped through. She had a purse over one shoulder and a canvas tote in one hand, and she knew where she was going as she walked toward Christian’s bedroom.
“Christian?” She saw a wadded up piece of paper in the hall, and she knelt down to uncrumple it, on the off chance Christian had thrown it out accidentally. Her eyes ran over the paper, not on purpose, but she couldn’t help reading part of it accidentally.
The Submissive shall submit to any sexual activity demanded by the Dominant and shall do without hesitation or argument.
She had no idea what was going on.
He heard Alyssa, managing to sound calm when he said “In here.” It actually felt good to be so angry. It felt like someone was maligning his name - trying to ruin his reputation. That kind of anger was productive. And yet, he felt shame that was hard to choke down.
“Hey, I brought you your ginger ale and some medicine.” She recrumpled the paper, dropping it into a trash can as she walked by. She’d read something about Which of the following types of pain/punishment/discipline are acceptable to the Submissive? and didn’t want to discuss it with him. That was dream Christian, someone who was hurting and sad, someone who couldn’t talk with anyone. Her Christian was different.
“How’s your throat?” She sat down near him, letting the back of her hand ghost over his forehead to take his temperature.
“A bit better. Obliged.” Christian didn’t somehow want to look at her. He could just hear the laughing. “Think it’s just a spring cold.”
“Probably,” she sighed, sitting down next to him and starting to measure out some of the liquid medicine she’d gotten him. “So this will taste utterly rubbish, but it’ll work faster than those capsules they sell now. Plus it’ll hurt your throat less.” She handed over the tiny plastic cup with a kiss on his forehead.
Christian sat up, not caring that he looked like hell; she’d seen him in dishabillé before. It was more that he knew he probably looked as numb as he felt. Obediently he knocked back the medicine like a shot of gin, making a face but getting it all down. “You can be off if you want,” he told her, lying back down. “Won’t be much company.” Sick. And angry. And oddly humiliated.
“Don’t care,” she murmured, handing over a plastic bottle of ginger ale. “Here.” She opened it and smiled, reaching out to stroke his cheek. She figured he didn’t want to talk about whatever that paper was, so she simply didn’t bring it up.
“I don’t need mothering, woman.” But his heart wasn’t in it, and he sighed, burrowing his head into the pillow. “It’s probably good I’m so angry over that bloody paper, isn’t it.”
“Yeah.” She toed off her heels and moved under the covers with him, moving so his head was on her chest and she could stroke his hair. “It’s just more evidence that he’s a huge, gaping asshole, and you’re lovely.”
“Such language.” Christian would have complained about being coddled any other day, but he was too damn tired and too damn numb. “It’s funny; it’s not really a fear that I would do this. It’s more like ... identity theft.” Like some arsehole was using his name and his reputation and ruining it.
“Just think of it as another bloke with your name. Now you know how John Smiths feel all the time.” She lightly rubbed his temples, liking that they were comfortable enough to do this. “Mmm, you’re warm. S’nice.”
“Of course I’m warm, it’s bloody hot in here.” Christian’s tone was less sharp than his words. But he didn’t make her move or anything. “And I’m trying to think that way, but it’s hard.”
“I know. Well. I don’t know, but I can... I can try to understand.” She closed her eyes, letting her head rest on top of his. “But you’re not him, Christian. You’d never want a girl who’d sign something like that anyway. You’d think she was a brainless, spineless moron.”
“She is.” Christian’s tone got real venom. “I feel sorry for the little twit. He’s going to turn her into a slave.” And that, he had to admit, bothered him in the extreme. It was like frying ants with a magnifying glass.
“And the fact you feel that way, Christian. You’re not him. He’s not you. There’s no way anyone could ever get you two mixed up. If he’s like you at all, he’s like your evil, stupid, arsey twin.” She wrinkled her nose. “I bet if he showed up here right now, I could tell the difference between the two of you quite easily.”
“Oh? You think?” He somehow doubted that. “It isn’t as though evil wears an enormous moustache, Alyssa.”
“He’d talk to me differently. Look at me differently. He’d treat me differently. I’d just know. Trust me, any man who needs to draw up a bloody sex contract isn’t exactly a good communicator,” Alyssa snorted.
She had a fair point, and he nodded, turning his head away again, cracking his neck with a groan. “Just ... I’m a bastard sometimes. I’m not that big a bastard. I want to ... I don’t know. Tell him to stop ruining my name.” Silly, he knew, but he couldn’t stop how he felt.
She leaned over to kiss him, feeling like he needed one. “He’s a bastard. We shouldn’t think about him. It gives him too much power.” She took his hand and gently rubbed the area between thumb and index finger, knowing sometimes it helped with nausea.
Well, he could admit the truth of that. Christian nodded, feeling himself melt when she started to rub that bit of his hand. “Whassat?” he mumbled.
Smiling, Alyssa kissed his earlobe lightly, gently, as to not arouse and simply comfort. “It’s a pressure point,” she murmured. “Helps with nausea. I do it when I get PMT and can’t miss school but feel like vomiting anyway.”
“Really.” It felt bloody marvellous. “Wasn’t feeling nauseous yet, but had that feeling in m’head.” Christian closed his eyes again. “You c’n put telly on if you want.” No reason to make her sit here bored.
“All right,” Alyssa smiled. She let up for just long enough to grab the remote and flip through the channels. Christian had all of the fancy cable channels, and Alyssa and her mother only had basic. So just channel flipping was interesting.
When she got to BBC America, she laughed. “Hey, Black Books is on! Did you ever watch this? I think you’re a bit Bernard-y.”
Christian blinked, shaking his head. “Heard the name, but never watched it. Is that Dylan Moran?” He did appreciate Irish talent.
“It is, yeah. He’s so handsome,” Alyssa sighed. She resumed rubbing Christian’s hand, kissing his temple before curling up to watch one of her favorite programmes.
“Handsome? Are we talking about the same bloke?” Christian raised an eyebrow. “Perpetually disheveled, going grey?”
“Mmmhmm. Never underestimate the sexiness of a bloke who can make a woman laugh,” Alyssa smiled. She let her fingers return to his hair, gently massaging his scalp and giggling along with the show. “Could be worse, I could fancy Bill Bailey.”
“He’s funny, but I’d wonder about you if you fancied him.” Christian managed a smile, turning his attention toward the show.
It was funny - and most of it, he had to admit, was due to how much he empathized with Bernard Black. Hearing the man grump his way through life had Christian laughing. Often to his respiratory detriment. “Ow.”
“Are you coughing anything up?” Alyssa cocked her head to the side, immediately concerned. “If you are, there’s a different medicine for that.”
“Don’t - ow - think so.” Christian took as deep a breath as he could. “Just feels wheezy.”
“You’ll need to take a shower later, but let me get you that other medicine now. Wheezing might mean you’ve got something in your lungs.” Alyssa hopped up to get a tablet out of the medicine bag, handing one pill and the bottle of ginger ale to Christian.
“Why a shower?” Well. Besides cleanliness. Christian raised one eyebrow, eyeing it. “What’s this?”
“This is an expectorant, it’ll break up the mucous in your lungs and make it easier to cough up so you can breathe more easily.” She sat back down, curling up under the covers. “It thins it as well. Shower’s for the same reason, it’ll break all of that up.”
“All right, Mum.” Christian groused, but he felt almost obligated to do so. He obediently took it, taking a deep breath and lying back down. On screen, Bernard was shouting, and Christian had to smile. “Is this how normal people think of their accounts?”
“It’s how I feel when I take maths classes, yeah.” She nuzzled into him, eyes closing. She just liked smelling him, just liked breathing him in - germs and all.
“That’s how I feel when people talk to me about iambic pentameter or like ... I don’t know, double-blind trials.” Christian closed his eyes. This felt very calming. Upon reflection, he realized he felt flat-out safe when she was here. What did that mean?
“Oooh, double-blind trials, the medical trial gold standard.” She smiled, letting her fingers continue to stroke his hair. Whenever he was around, she could feel her heart beat more slowly even though her adrenaline raced. He made her calm and excited at the same time, and she just wanted him to know that she loved him more than anything in the world. Without saying it, of course.
He wasn’t sure, but he might have fallen asleep, or so he belatedly realized. Bernard Black was shouting about something else on the screen, and he blinked fuzzily, looking up. “Mmrph?”
Alyssa smiled and kissed his forehead. “You fell asleep. Do you want something to drink?” He’d slept through two more episodes, which was a nap she was sure he needed.
“Yes, please.” Christian sighed. “Tired still. But you don’t have to look after me.”
“Christian, I’m staying here until you go to work next.” Alyssa smiled, giving him a Look. “It’s Spring Break - random holiday in the middle of the spring, I expect - and I have nothing to do but hand you beverages.” She moved to get him some cool water, handing a glass over.
“Well, I’m going to try to go to work tomorrow.” Christian looked up stubbornly. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate it, it was just ... he hated being sick. “Frustrating, this.”
“I know. Just play it by ear for now, see how you feel, yeah?” She stroked his forehead and fixed his sheets, leaning back once more and smiling at him. “Have the medicines helped at all?”
Christian shook his head. “Maybe a bit, but it hasn’t been long.” Hopefully it would help. “You’re kind to do this,” he finally said, closing his eyes. It was his way of saying thank you. And thank you for not mocking him about the stupid contract.
“I know,” Alyssa smiled. She closed her eyes as well, wrapping her arms around him under the covers. It was her way of saying that he was welcome when she really wanted to say that she loved him.