A Pox On Your House
Characters: Shark!Erik, Pilot Fish!Ben
Date&Time: December 25th, evening
Setting: Ben's absconded den Erik's room
Summary: Gesunteit; see also: alternatives to chicken soup.
Rating: Rish?
Status: Open to Cooler!Erik.
( You can't cure what isn't there/just thread your fingers through my hair and I'll be okay )
Date&Time: December 25th, evening
Setting: Ben's absconded den Erik's room
Summary: Gesunteit; see also: alternatives to chicken soup.
Rating: Rish?
Status: Open to Cooler!Erik.
( You can't cure what isn't there/just thread your fingers through my hair and I'll be okay )
Children were very good at spilling things, it seemed, especially a festive drink, and especially onto Erik's shoes.
It was frankly unacceptable, and he'd berated the little toerag until the clumsy little creature had rushed off to his room in tears - a fitting enough punishment for one who'd dropped a glass of eggnog onto Magneto's pristeenly polished Italian footwear.
It did mean, however, that he had to leave the Christmas 'party' in order to trudge upstairs in just his socks with a view to changing his shoes, knowing full well he likely looked ridiculous but that anyone who said so or even dared think so would be beaten to within an inch of their lives.
He didn't, naturally, expect to find Ben curled up in his bed sniffling horrendously. In. His. Bed.
"Benjamin," he boomed out, "When I told you to take ( ... )
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"Just what do you think you're doing spreading your germs over my bed and smearing them across my pillows, Benjamin? You do realise, I hope, that if I somehow manage to pick up this foul affliction, you'll be spending a week in the dungeons - and not for pleasure."
He dropped his filthy shoes on the floor and marched over in his socks, leaning over Ben and pressing his palm to the boy's forehead, checking his temperature and tutting in disapproval, fishing the discarded spoilt pillow off the floor and hitting Ben across the head with it.
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The position turned out to be a mistake. It left him open to attack. That was the problem with shit like this, it made keeping one's defenses up incredibly difficult. Vigilance just flew right out the window.
"I told you, m'fine," Ben grumbled, swatting ineffectually at Erik's hand. He squawked as the pillow smashed against the side of his face, the whump of displaced air encroaching on the blissful state of misery he'd been crawling toward. With a pathetic growl, Ben grabbed the pillow and tossed it back in Erik's direction, landing a soft blow to the man's waist. It was somewhat anti-climactic, really, but then Erik ( ... )
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Erik snarled out, hitting Ben another three times with the pillow, smacking it down over him in an almost brutal fashion, having not one inch of mercy - even festive mercy.
"Don't make me levitate your pathetic carcass up and out, Benjamin, you know I will!"
If he had to, Erik would resort to using his power over Ben's own electrical signature to hoist him atom by atom up into the air and throw him bodily all the way to his own bedroom, where he could contaminate his own space in peace.
Really, this was highly unacceptable, and the only reason Erik wasn't beating the ever living tar out of the boy right now was because he was sick, and clearly not in his right mind about his poor life choices.
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Damnable boy! How dare he attack Erik in his own bed, even if it was in some form of feverish self defense!
Erik climbed atop the bed, in a foul mood from having his shoes ruined and his bed violated by a germ-infested little slut, and began pummelling Ben in earnest now. With the pillow.
"Get! Out! Of My Bed!!"
There would be no escape his ire, as he straddled the boy and whacked him over and over with the goose down pillow, beating him with it until Ben would simply give up and crawl off to infest another room.
Did Erik really have to go and sleep in Ben's room?! He had a party get back to - this was wasting his time.
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In fact, Ben ought not notice his sickly state at all now he'd received a punch to the face to distract him and give him something else to think about.
Erik was incredibly generous and thoughtful that way.
"If you even dare, i'll smash your face against the headboard until I see blood. How's that for a merry fucking Christmas, you little incubator!"
Erik patently didn't get sick, he never did, but he wouldn't allow risks to come his way in the form of sickly germ incubators taking up residence in his personal space.
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It was one thing to thunder and grumble like a maniac and it was quite another to threaten real bodily harm to the already ailing. Not that Ben was ailing, exactly. Because Ben wasn't sick. He was just tired. Tired in a very hot, very congested, very headache-y kind of way. He needed head rubs and possible a blow job, not a punch to the face and verbal abuse. Domestic violence was not something he'd asked Santa for (unless the old geezer had misinterpreted 'riding crop', which seemed unlikely given the fact that Ben wasn't enjoying this at all ( ... )
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But he didn't toss Ben's dead weighted scrawny arse out of bed, or even off him, merely lay there, resigned to his fate as a newly-kissed member of the Infected.
Erik never got ill, so in all likelyhood nothing would happen and he'd be absolutely fine... but it was all still completely unacceptable, and not at all hygenic.
"Why would you wish to make me ill, Benjamin? Hmm?" He murmured out, practicaly whining at how utterly unfair that decision had been on Ben's part, because why would someone who was supposed to love someone else ever want to make them suffer through an illness?
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Really he didn't think Ben deserved any level of kindness for his inconsiderate germ spreading, but at the same time his overwhelmingly large level of fondness for the boy stopped him from beating him to a messy pulp and turfing him out on his ear.
Rubbing things was for lazy mornings and the afterglow of sex... not for soothing the ill.
Erik didn't soothe ill people - he merely kept his distance if it was infectious, and administered a healthy dose of reality in a spoon if it wasn't.
Afterall, the last time Ben had been bedridden, Erik had stitched his face up and fucked him better again. Non-infectious types of malady were much preferable.
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More than was healthy for either of them, probably. There had to be some kind of consequence for it. Jerking off could lead to carpal tunnel and he`d heard that some men who were too...enthusiastic, could actually sprain it. What a bitch a strained prick would be, Jesus. It was entirely possible that one day Ben might dislocate his jaw, especially because Erik was hung like a goddamn ox, and if that was the case then his daily sucking off of the man was a daily foray into danger. Ben was putting his life at risk every time. That absolutely deserved a back rub.
Erik`s hands were noticably in non-back rubbing position. Ben wriggled suggestively and noisily snurked up a puddle of snot that was trying to escape his sinuses. "I said please," the boy pointed out rather crossly, lifting his head enough to blearily glare at Erik. "I`d do it for you."
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As it is, you hardly deserve it now, even if you suck my cock more often than you take breath."
Erik was all for positive reinforcement, and never let it be said he didn't reward good behaviour or achievement.
The simple fact was, Ben's behaviour was shockingly poor, and his attitude unbecoming of even him.
He would deserve a back rub and kinder treatment when he learnt how to be more polite about his illness and stop bloody complaining.
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"Your face bears ills with little grace," Ben retorted sullenly. Jesus fuck, he felt miserable and couldn't remember ever feeling anything other than miserable. Naturally, this meant that the whole rest of the goddamn world needed to either be equally or severely more discontented than he was or else cater to his every whim. If not the whole world, then at least Erik could have had the decency to do so. Didn't he realize the agony of being not-sick? It was pure hell. Ben could feel his eyeballs trying to spontaneously combust, for fuck's sake.
"I'm missing the party," Ben said morosely. "There's eggnog. Spiked eggnog ( ... )
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