A Pox On Your House

[staticsnap]

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.

Comments

[staticsnap]

"If I had an ounce of dignity or self-respect, I wouldn't have let you fuck me the weekend we met," Ben snapped, raising a triumphant fist. "Ha!"

Take that, metal-playing soulcrusher. There was nothing quite so frustrating as Erik when he was in a contrary mood. It was like he made a conscious decision to ruin Ben's life by being unnecessarily unreasonable and cruel, a decision which Ben didn't appreciate even when he wasn't struggling to keep his lungs from becoming bacteria-ridden tidepools.

For the sake of continuity, Ben slithered clumsily out of his cotton lounge pants. The heat was rising again, what with the window closed and his frustration growing ever more virulent with every passing moment that seemed to be leading to Erik callously abandoning him.

"You're being goddamn paranoid," Ben accused, mildly fascinated by the crackling quality of his breaths. He had musical lungs, how very festive. He'd have to explore their range later. With concrete persistence, Ben wrapped his hand around Erik's wrist, the one whose hand was wrapped around Ben's other hand. "And it's too early to sleep. What's your fucking rush to leave? I'm not going to come downstairs and find you fucking Santa Claus, am I?"

[rageserenity]

It was a mark of just how delious from illness Ben truly was, in fact, that he'd disregard Erik's direct orders, that he'd dare to infer that letting Erik fuck him - there'd been no 'letting' about it, letting implied choice in the matter or other options to choose - had been without dignity or self-respect, which was patently untrue.

And that he seemed to have forgotten the date entirely.

"It's the 25th, you foolish boy, I fucked Santa Claus when he stopped by last night."

The fact that Ben was now naked made absolutely no different to Erik's resolve. He hardly found rattling breathes and coughing up muccus arousing.

"What's going to happen is, i'm going to allow you use of my room just for tonight, and i'm going to bring you medicine, and you're going to stop whinging like the children you so love to loathe and do as I tell you. Understood?"

[staticsnap]

Clearly Erik was trying to be humble about this whole thing because if he really had fucked St. Nick last night, it was entirely plausible (probable, even) that the old bastard would show up again for a second helping before he carted his stalker bones back to the North Pole. It made Ben feel a little better, that small private victory of logic.

In answer to Erik, Ben remained silent. With a stormy expression, the dark-haired boy staggered beneath the ruin of blankets (they crackled with a bevy of tempestuous static) and fwumped down. He could match Erik glare for glare and outstubborn the man easily when it came to this.

`This` being, of course, Erik`s callous refusal to stay.

"How about we skip the goddamn medicine," Ben suggested, hair falling across his eyes as he angled his head on the pillow, "and you just stay? I`ll make it worth your while, Erik."

[rageserenity]

"Even if you're not ill," of course Ben was, of bloody course, but he'd humour the lad's stupidity for now to meet his own ends, "you do look it, and there are few things less erotic than a sickly pallor.

How do you expect to blow me properly if you're congested by seasonal allergies? If you don't do as you're told, you won't get better, and then you won't be allowed to suck on my cock with your usual grace and fervour at all."

Yes, best to put an idea of a horrible dystopian future into Ben's head as radical incentive to recover.

Whatever would Ben do if his favourite activity was stolen from him, hmm?

"You wanted me to waste my evening at your beck and call, so how about it, Benjamin. You either swallow medicine, or you don't get to swallow my cock."

[staticsnap]

A slow look of absolute horror crept across Ben's face until he was staring blankly at Erik, a numbness in his eyes that came from the sheer inability to comprehend how the man could stand there and issue such dire threats without being consumed by the cruelty of them. Was Erik being serious? Surely he had to understand that what he'd just said wouldn't only cripple Ben's quality of life but also make his own that much less enjoyable as well.

Ben's mouth opened soundlessly for a moment, jaw trying to form comprehensible words but failing utterly because what the hell was he supposed to say to that?! It wasn't like he could refuse, damn it, but neither was he really satisfied with the option that left him. He didn't like being pushed up against the wall (...not unless that wall was literal and the pushing precluded a vigorous fuck.)

A look somewhere between sorrowful agreement and murderous I'm-going-to-punch-you-in-the-kidneys-later irritation bloomed in Ben's expression and he gave a short, sharp nod.

"I don't see how you giving me a fucking ultimatum is being at my 'beck and call' but fine. Bring on the goddamn tonic, Prohibition John," Ben raised a finger, "and before you say it, I fucking know what Prohibition was and I'm recycling to term because you're a cockblocker of unconstitutional proportions."

[rageserenity]

"You either get an ultimatum, or you get nothing at all from me. Just be glad I feel inclined to give you the former, rather than the latter. Especially considering your fucking atrocious behaviour."

If anyone was going to get punched in the kidneys, it really wasn't Erik. Erik was the one who did the punching, which was something Ben ought to know by now.

It was no use the boy getting comfortable in his position, in beginning to take on airs and graces just because he was Magneto's Favourite. Ben still had a place amongst the ranks, and simply due to the fact Erik fucked him and let him stay in his bed didn't mean in the slightest that Ben escaped such a thing as punishments, nor that Ben was allowed to dish them out himself higher up the foodchain.

That wasn't how the Laws of Nature worked.

Those at the top - Erik, in other words - oversaw the jungle below. The jungle didn't touch him back.

Ben might have a rather sharp machete to navigate his way around, but he was still roaming upon the earthly plane.

"Now i'm going to go and fetch your medicine, and you need to think about the error of your ways. If you seem sufficiently genuinely penitent upon my return, i'll be so kind as to fuck you into unconsciousness."

And Erik was being really very generous at that. With a kiss to Ben's forehead, he slipped out quickly, not letting the boy away with any more of his tricks, and went to get medicine from the cabinet down in the kitchen.

[staticsnap]

Left to the quiet cast of the room, Ben found that his miserable sullenness made for poor company. It rose sickly to fill up the corners of the solitary space and seemed to suck the colour - normally warm and rich - out of the embellishments. Rather petulantly, Ben let it wrap around him and greedily held fast to it's ragged edges. He was allowed to be in a bad mood, damn it. That was a right afforded to everyone who felt like horseshit, never more so than when those aforementioned fecal sympathizers were in such a state during the holidays. What was the point in trying to soldier stoically through the dredges of immune dysfunction? That was for fucking martyrs and everyone knew what happened to martyrs: they burned at the stake. Goddamn idiots.

The fact that Erik wasn't pulling any punches didn't do much to restore Ben's ill temper to something resembling cordiality. It wasn't rocket science, after all. Ben simply wanted to be allowed to wallow in his misfortune and be rewarded for it with the sturdy, solid touch of the one person whom he trusted to see him in such a patently undignified manner.

The kiss, though. That had been nice.

Blinking blearily, Ben tried to see if he could still feel Erik's lips upon his forehead. Sometimes he could do that, call up the impression of past touches and live in their memory for a few moments. Alas, it appeared that even his mental storehouses weren't taking pity on him; all Ben could manage to get hold of was the sensation of being burned alive, a byproduct of his fever (or so he assumed.)

"Get it together, Westwood," Ben sighed, trying to tamp down on the dark mood squeezing his ribcage together. At the very least he could manage to be civil long enough to get Erik to fuck him, a solution that was going to be a damn sight more beneficial than whatever tonic the mutant had gone to fetch. Tonic which, for the record, he didn't even need because his immune system was made up of millions of tiny gladiators who would kick the shit out of any rogue bacteria. The only reason he was in bed in the first place had been to appease Erik. The fact that he'd skipped out on getting gloriously hammered should have been cause enough alone to win him a fast and furious trip between the sheets.

Apparently they thought differently on that matter. Ben had done far more for far less, however, and he wasn't quite so delusional as to carry on prodding at the limits of Erik's patience. He was trying, in his own Erik-like manner, to be...comforting.

And perhaps, just maybe, Ben was possibly, conceivably, being an eensy bit unreasonable.

[rageserenity]

They did say that imitation was the sincerest form of flattery...

But there was only one Erik Lehnsherr.

No matter how much Ben attempted to imitate his nature, his moods, the shifts and tumbles of his whims - there would only ever be One Erik, not even One & a Quarter. So Ben could simply stop pretending right this minute he was anything but a sick boy who needed comfort and taking care of until he was better again.

Erik would be kind to him, tender, even go so far as sweetness... but not when Ben was lashing out violently at him with rough fists and clawing hands, forcing unhygenic kisses when Erik clearly didn't want any at all, and being not only incredibly sullen, but actually rude.

Erik hated rude people.

It was for Erik to be the one in control... and wasn't this the way with all life? It was for Erik, and Ben should just settle into his own skin as Erik's lover, and let himself be loved how Erik saw fit.

Returning with the medicine, he sat himself down upon the side of the bed and forced three spoonfulls down Ben's throat. "There... that should ease the coughing." This wasn't the first time he'd played nursemaid for Ben.

[staticsnap]

To say that the medicine tasted foul was like saying the French were a bit gruff. The thick syrup (a consistency of coagulated blood) was reminiscent of turpentine and battery acid, reduced down to an offensive mire before being laced with a sickly sweet note of overripe plums. Ben had a sneaking suspicion that three spoonfuls was more than he needed and that Erik was just ensuring that eventually the anesthetic quality to the linctus would knock him out. He couldn't be sure - he never got close enough to the bottle to actually read it - but he wouldn't have put it past the man to outsmart him in a bid to force him to rest. Alternatively, Erik might have just found it amusing to watch Ben's face twitch as he tried to bite back the rictus of disgust that erupted as he gagged the awful concoction back. He did have a high appreciation for black humour.

It took all of Ben's willpower not to knock the bottle out of Erik's hand in retaliation. Instead, he let his head slump forward against one of the older mutant's thighs, forehead pressed against tendons and muscle that shifted subtly beneath the draw of skin. Swallowing, Ben could still detect the syrup on his tongue, thick as honey and with an aftertaste of dried bones and raspberries. He sighed.

"Thanks," he managed eventually, and oh, was it ever work to push the words past his lips because he really hated taking anything that didn't come from a liquor store. Pills and prescriptions were for sissies. Ben grimaced and rolled his tongue around in his mouth, trying to dredge up some more saliva to dilute the lingering aura in his mouth. "It's working already. Real medical marvel, that shit."

[rageserenity]

Erik put the bottle down on the bedside table and focussed now on caressing the boy's back with one hand, a soothing tender sort of gesture considering not 15 minutes ago they'd been tussling on the floor, biting and punching and Erik had been doing his damndest to reach through Ben's epidermis, grab hold of his scapula, and yank it clean out.

The other hand stroked sweetly through Ben's sweat-slickened hair, lulling him to rest, calming.

A force of his willpower against the boy's.

And really, this was better, wasn't it? Being good for Erik meant Erik took care of you, it meant he was tender and kind, and rewarded you with lovely attention.

"Sh sh sh shhhh, there, my beautiful boy... it's time to rest now."

Time to do as Erik said.

[staticsnap]

Ben trembled faintly, bowing beneath Erik's touch so that his head curled to rest more completely atop his lap and the tension in his shoulders bled out ounce by ounce. This was what he'd wanted, this soothing caress that had been so foreign for so long that now the young man was greedy for it, finally having recognized his hunger for such things. Ben hummed softly in appreciation as the repetitive flow of the strokes on his back began to tip him toward a hypnotically content state.

Christ, he'd been an ass, hadn't he? And on purpose. Ben didn't have any illusions about himself. He knew he wasn't the easiest person to get along with, that he got into aggressively solitary moods and snapped at anyone who had the idiocy not to read his mind and discern that he wanted his personal space. That was just part of his personality. To purposefully gird himself in more of that abrasive safeguard was just fucking poor play.

"M'sorry," Ben apologized, his hand slipping to grip the loose fabric of Erik's fine trousers. He leaned his head back against the weaving force of fingers and palm, shivering a bit as Erik's hand worked across his right temple. "I didn't mean to be such a fucktwit. It's just lousy being si...it's just really bad timing. Mmm, right there. Feels good right there."

[rageserenity]

Erik's fingers - an artisan's talent embedded in the fibres within them - worked at those sensitively needy temples, soothing them out, guiding Ben towards rest and compliance.

Sometimes mutant abilities simply weren't enough... to bend metal was all well and good, but to bend another person could be better.

"I forgive you." Which was probably better and more rare than being absolved by the Pope.

"I know you don't mean to disobey and disappoint me, Ben. You'd never want to disappoint me, would you?

That's right... just rest now... let me send you to sleep. I'll stay until you're settled, I promise."

Erik was such a benevolent ruler when he was being obeyed, and the will of others was voluntarily subject to him.

[staticsnap]

A shiver curled around a knob of Ben's spine, down low where it's cold reach could ricochet in the valley of his lower back. An uncomfortable flush threatened to spill onto his cheeks and the younger man turned his face instinctively into Erik in a vain attempt to hide his shame. Even halfway to death, Ben was all too aware of the prickling dread that pitched into his belly at the mere insinuation of disappointing Erik. Disobeying? That wasn't a problem. Ben had never been one to colour in the lines and independence was too ingrained in his personality for him to be of much use as a letter soldier.

But disappointment? That was a different breed of sin altogether. Where disobeying implied actions, disappointment was the folding frown of spirit and the weight of Erik's absent favour was far too crushing a load for him to bear with any dignity.

Ben's fingers fluttered, brushing over the slope of Erik's knee in a gentle, silent display of humiliated sorrow. If he hadn't felt so terrible - and really, it was the sort of dreadful sensation that chipped away at the shattered remains of resolve, a sickly sort of leeching that Ben couldn't get rid of and which left him with a thrumming desire to just turn off, please, just let him be turned off if it would not stop.

"You said you'd fuck me," Ben muttered weakly, snuffling as his nose tried it's best to evacuate the whole of his liquid matter out in one go. The boy gave an errant, limp stretch, trying to position himself more alluringly, but he barely made if halfway before aborting the maneuver and settling instead with curling up ever tighter against Erik, a limpet to an immovable boulder. "T'morrow?" he asked hopefully, breath coming in soft, rattling plumes as the soft brush against his temples herded him into a thick-walled haze somewhere between sleep and awake.

[rageserenity]

Erik responded to Ben's sorry attempts at movement by physically lending his strength to move the boy himself, gently manoeuvring Ben up the bed and putting him in it, gently drawing the single sheet up to Ben's waist and curling up behind him, spooning him snugly and wrapping an arm about the poor sickly boy's slender waist.

He didn't want to be facing Ben, afterall. Even this amount of exposure to viral microbes was bad enough.

He kissed just behind Ben's ear softly, the whisper of lips.

"There... tomorrow, if you're a good boy for me and a little better."

There was nothing about the sick that Erik found the least arousing, even Ben. A broken limb was one thing, flesh wounds and injuries of that ilk were also quite satisfactory when it came to eroticism. But colds? The flu? Pneumonia? Hardly the stuff that stirred him.