Fic - Influenzal infection - Luis García/John Arne Riise
Title: Influenzal infection 
Author: tifosarossonera
Rating: PG
Pairing: Luis García/John Arne Riise
Feedback: Yes, please!
Disclaimer: This story is complete fiction. It never happened.
Summary: Poor little Luis is sick and John looks after him.
Archive: Beautiful Games, if accepted
Note: Many thanks to ivorylasenza for the superb beta. <333s
"Jooooohn!"
It is the third time in five minutes that Luis has called him and John sighs, more than a little annoyed.
"I told you, I'm there in a minute!" he shouts in response, aiming it towards the living room.
Anybody who cooks for themselves will tell you that it's not easy to prepare a hot chicken soup with a lover on the couch, calling for him every other second as if he'll drop dead without him, but this is what John has to contend with. Half of him's sorry he invited Luis over to stay but, the truth is, he couldn't stand to think of him alone and sick in that big old house of his.
"Jooo-hon!"
Louder this time.
"I'm cold!"
John is about to shout back that Luis should just shut the fuck up for two minutes. Just two fucking minutes. Can it be that hard to just keep your mouth shut for two minutes?
He wisely chooses to keep quiet, to continue stirring that soup until it boils up, the steam making his face clammy.
He'd turned on the TV for Luis to distract him, to keep him quiet while he cooks him something warm and easy on the stomach, something that'll reduce the chill but not make him sick. Soup. Good for the body and the soul, they say, so he'd taken it upon himself to make Luis some of that. He had selected MTV because Luis wasn't in the mood to pay actual attention to plot and storyline, just wanted something as "background".
Now, with Luis constantly calling out for him, John regrets not having turned up the volume even more, so that he wouldn't be able to hear the demanding little bastard.
Of course, as soon as he has the thought, John feels guilty. Being sick is always a nasty thing.
Still, if Luis would only pull himself together a little more; stop being such a little boy…
Once he is done with the soup, Luis is close to being hoarse because he yelled for John five more times even though his throat was already sore due to the cold. As John steps into the living room, the heat almost takes away his breath. John is bad at guessing such things as degrees, but something he definitely can say is that he totally underestimated the power of his heating before.
He never would have thought it is possible to heat up a room like this.
As he slowly approaches the sofa - the sofa his lover is lying on, covered with two woollen blankets - he can feel how the Spaniard's angry eyes are resting on him.
"What have you been doing for that long?"
He's accusing, little Luis. He's one of those who don't like being alone much anyway, but when he's not feeling well, he doesn't want to be alone more than ever.
He needs constant attention.
Demands it, really.
"I made you something to eat, Luis. You need to eat something, so that you body will be strong to fight the fever."
This is the chain of arguments that always works well with his daughter, but as soon as Luis shakes his head frenetically John realises that this is not Ariana that he's trying to convince.
His daughter isn't stubborn.
"Luis, please. I don't want to force you to eat it."
John gives Luis a severe look, earning a classy pout from Luis.
Petulant child.
Then he sighs, dramatically.
"I'm dying, John!"
John is close to bursting out laughing, but from the way Luis said it - serious and without a smirk on his face - John concludes that this is probably not an attempt at a joke.
Luis had not been feeling well these last few days, had complained about headaches and a sore throat. He also had said that his legs felt extremely heavy and that they hurt, so did his joints. Over the night he suddenly developed a temperature. First time John had checked, it'd hit 101 and he only got hotter as the hours went by. This morning it had been so bad that it was impossible for Luis to attend training, thus John had brought him back to bed to catch as much sleep as possible and get himself fit again soon.
Instead of sleeping Luis had used the morning to feel sorry for himself and to tell himself that he was going to die.
Typical man, his mother would say. John's, too.
He tends to do this a lot, when he's not healthy, pity himself. In moments like this he easily gets angry because of all the things that others can do, whereas he just can't, because he needs to stay in bed. He doesn't like that. It's great torture for Luis to be chained to a bed, having to rest, and when John comes back from training, Luis will look at him with accusing eyes, as if it was John's fault that Luis is sick.
John has learnt not to take it personally. He learnt to deal with it. Luis can't help it, it's just the way he is. His passion for the game, the fun he has at training, it's hard for him to stay at home all alone, when there is no one to talk to, to joke with.
Luis loves having company.
Being sick is agony for him.
"You're only going to die if you don't eat the soup. Do you want that?"
John strokes Luis' cheek gently. The Spaniard's black hair is plastered to his sweaty forehead from fever, from too many blankets, from heat, even though he would swear to you that he was cold.
"Just a little bit..." John encourages.
Immediately, Luis agrees. He even lets John grab him and sit him up, lets John feed him with some of this horrible-tasting chicken soup. Luis only complains once or twice that his throat is sore and that it hurts him to swallow.
It's a step up from the amount of complaining he's been doing.
Once John decides that Luis has eaten enough, he lays him down again. The Norwegian strips down to his jeans because he can't stand the heat in the living room.
Luis, in contrast, is covered with two blankets and dressed in warm clothes.
"We should change those clothes, don't you think?"
Not only Luis' hair is plastered to his body. His clothes are totally soaked up with sweat, sticking to him like a second skin. It must definitely feel uncomfortable. "I'll prepare a bath for you. I'm back in one second, Luis. Ok?"
Luis nods again, his eyes tired, small and grey.
As John goes up the stairs he smiles at himself and wonders how long it will take Luis to start yelling for him again.
He sets a limit of 2 minutes, but as soon as Luis starts calling for him, he smirks. Less than that, even. Luis beat his own record.
John hurries up, just to return to Luis quickly, and again, when he enters the living room, the heat is almost unbearable. Is it not unhealthy to be this warm? He has little time to think about that, as Luis looks at him again, accusing.
"You said one second, John!"
John is close to laughing out loud. Sick little Luis is truly amusing, irritating but amusing, though he probably wouldn't agree.
"Luis, I didn't mean that literally. You can't go up and down the stairs and run someone a hot bath within one second."
The Norwegian offers a warm smile, as he moves over to the sofa to grab Luis. In his current state Luis doesn't return the hug, probably not even appreciate it, yet he allows John to carry him up the stairs, wrapped up in his blankets.
Though Luis weighs hardly anything, John gasps as he finally sits Luis down on the chair in the bathroom, exerted.
"I'm going to die, John!"
If he didn't say it in such a cute voice, with the perfect puppy expression on his face, John might just have slapped Luis hard across the face.
Instead he smiles again and kisses Luis' forehead softly.
"No, my love."
Quickly, he undresses the Spaniard, throwing the wet clothes into the corner of the bathroom. Luis immediately shivers and tells John that he is cold and that he fucking should hurry up.
John can't wait for the day when Luis is finally healthy again.
The Norwegian helps Luis into the bath tub before he sits down on the edge. John's hand reaches for the bath tonic. For colds, it says. It also says that it will help Luis relax and that it will lower the fever and clear the air passages.
Exactly what they need.
The heavy scents of eucalyptus, thyme, pine-needle and camomile impregnate the air. Luis lets John wash his exhausted body, there is no energy left to protest.
Of course there is, somewhere, and of course Luis is totally exaggerating, but that's just Luis. John secretly thanks God that Luis is not sick more often and that he doesn't have any habits that are worse.
After exactly 15 minutes - the time recommended on the package of the bath tonic - John heaves Luis out of the tub again. He dries the Spaniard with a huge, soft bath towel, before he enwraps him with his favourite bathrobe. Luis looks utterly tired and exhausted now and John hopes that he will finally be able to sleep.
Carefully, he carries his lover to the bedroom to lay him down on the big bed they share so often. He picks some fresh, warm clothes from the wardrobe for Luis. However, before John dresses Luis completely, his hands reach for the drawer, fetching a little jar of VapoRub.
The severe scent is rather penetrative, but Luis probably doesn't smell it. John no longer minds, he is used to it, but he knows that Luis never liked it. The Spaniard grimaces as John starts smearing some of the thick paste onto his naked chest, yet he lets it happen, probably too sleepy and exhausted from suffering from fever all day long to put up much of a fight.
Once John is done, he quickly finishes dressing his lover and covers him with several blankets. As he gets up, with the intention to fetch a glass of water for Luis, the Spaniard looks at him, pleading.
"Don't go, please. Stay with me, John."
Ok, at least he didn't repeat 'I'm dying', but yet John finds the way Luis said it highly endearing. Actually, the need in Luis' voice, the showing just how much Luis wants him to be next to him, makes up for all the times John mentally wanted to slap Luis tonight.
John comes close to the bed again, bending down to place a soft kiss on Luis' forehead.
"I'll only go down to the kitchen to get you some fresh water, I'm back soon. I won't leave you."
He smiles, and he notices how Luis tries to smile back at him.
John knows that Luis always dreams badly when he's sick and that he simply wants someone in the room who will tell him that it was only a bad dream and that everything will be ok, someone who maybe will give him a hug and a little kiss when he wakes up, just to let him know he's not alone.
Luis, it seems, regresses, somewhat, during illness.
John hurries, just to return quickly to his lover. As he enters the bed room again he finds Luis already sleeping peacefully, curling around the blankets.
John smiles as he approaches. For a brief moment, he wonders how long the peace will last.
Author: tifosarossonera
Rating: PG
Pairing: Luis García/John Arne Riise
Feedback: Yes, please!
Disclaimer: This story is complete fiction. It never happened.
Summary: Poor little Luis is sick and John looks after him.
Archive: Beautiful Games, if accepted
Note: Many thanks to ivorylasenza for the superb beta. <333s
"Jooooohn!"
It is the third time in five minutes that Luis has called him and John sighs, more than a little annoyed.
"I told you, I'm there in a minute!" he shouts in response, aiming it towards the living room.
Anybody who cooks for themselves will tell you that it's not easy to prepare a hot chicken soup with a lover on the couch, calling for him every other second as if he'll drop dead without him, but this is what John has to contend with. Half of him's sorry he invited Luis over to stay but, the truth is, he couldn't stand to think of him alone and sick in that big old house of his.
"Jooo-hon!"
Louder this time.
"I'm cold!"
John is about to shout back that Luis should just shut the fuck up for two minutes. Just two fucking minutes. Can it be that hard to just keep your mouth shut for two minutes?
He wisely chooses to keep quiet, to continue stirring that soup until it boils up, the steam making his face clammy.
He'd turned on the TV for Luis to distract him, to keep him quiet while he cooks him something warm and easy on the stomach, something that'll reduce the chill but not make him sick. Soup. Good for the body and the soul, they say, so he'd taken it upon himself to make Luis some of that. He had selected MTV because Luis wasn't in the mood to pay actual attention to plot and storyline, just wanted something as "background".
Now, with Luis constantly calling out for him, John regrets not having turned up the volume even more, so that he wouldn't be able to hear the demanding little bastard.
Of course, as soon as he has the thought, John feels guilty. Being sick is always a nasty thing.
Still, if Luis would only pull himself together a little more; stop being such a little boy…
Once he is done with the soup, Luis is close to being hoarse because he yelled for John five more times even though his throat was already sore due to the cold. As John steps into the living room, the heat almost takes away his breath. John is bad at guessing such things as degrees, but something he definitely can say is that he totally underestimated the power of his heating before.
He never would have thought it is possible to heat up a room like this.
As he slowly approaches the sofa - the sofa his lover is lying on, covered with two woollen blankets - he can feel how the Spaniard's angry eyes are resting on him.
"What have you been doing for that long?"
He's accusing, little Luis. He's one of those who don't like being alone much anyway, but when he's not feeling well, he doesn't want to be alone more than ever.
He needs constant attention.
Demands it, really.
"I made you something to eat, Luis. You need to eat something, so that you body will be strong to fight the fever."
This is the chain of arguments that always works well with his daughter, but as soon as Luis shakes his head frenetically John realises that this is not Ariana that he's trying to convince.
His daughter isn't stubborn.
"Luis, please. I don't want to force you to eat it."
John gives Luis a severe look, earning a classy pout from Luis.
Petulant child.
Then he sighs, dramatically.
"I'm dying, John!"
John is close to bursting out laughing, but from the way Luis said it - serious and without a smirk on his face - John concludes that this is probably not an attempt at a joke.
Luis had not been feeling well these last few days, had complained about headaches and a sore throat. He also had said that his legs felt extremely heavy and that they hurt, so did his joints. Over the night he suddenly developed a temperature. First time John had checked, it'd hit 101 and he only got hotter as the hours went by. This morning it had been so bad that it was impossible for Luis to attend training, thus John had brought him back to bed to catch as much sleep as possible and get himself fit again soon.
Instead of sleeping Luis had used the morning to feel sorry for himself and to tell himself that he was going to die.
Typical man, his mother would say. John's, too.
He tends to do this a lot, when he's not healthy, pity himself. In moments like this he easily gets angry because of all the things that others can do, whereas he just can't, because he needs to stay in bed. He doesn't like that. It's great torture for Luis to be chained to a bed, having to rest, and when John comes back from training, Luis will look at him with accusing eyes, as if it was John's fault that Luis is sick.
John has learnt not to take it personally. He learnt to deal with it. Luis can't help it, it's just the way he is. His passion for the game, the fun he has at training, it's hard for him to stay at home all alone, when there is no one to talk to, to joke with.
Luis loves having company.
Being sick is agony for him.
"You're only going to die if you don't eat the soup. Do you want that?"
John strokes Luis' cheek gently. The Spaniard's black hair is plastered to his sweaty forehead from fever, from too many blankets, from heat, even though he would swear to you that he was cold.
"Just a little bit..." John encourages.
Immediately, Luis agrees. He even lets John grab him and sit him up, lets John feed him with some of this horrible-tasting chicken soup. Luis only complains once or twice that his throat is sore and that it hurts him to swallow.
It's a step up from the amount of complaining he's been doing.
Once John decides that Luis has eaten enough, he lays him down again. The Norwegian strips down to his jeans because he can't stand the heat in the living room.
Luis, in contrast, is covered with two blankets and dressed in warm clothes.
"We should change those clothes, don't you think?"
Not only Luis' hair is plastered to his body. His clothes are totally soaked up with sweat, sticking to him like a second skin. It must definitely feel uncomfortable. "I'll prepare a bath for you. I'm back in one second, Luis. Ok?"
Luis nods again, his eyes tired, small and grey.
As John goes up the stairs he smiles at himself and wonders how long it will take Luis to start yelling for him again.
He sets a limit of 2 minutes, but as soon as Luis starts calling for him, he smirks. Less than that, even. Luis beat his own record.
John hurries up, just to return to Luis quickly, and again, when he enters the living room, the heat is almost unbearable. Is it not unhealthy to be this warm? He has little time to think about that, as Luis looks at him again, accusing.
"You said one second, John!"
John is close to laughing out loud. Sick little Luis is truly amusing, irritating but amusing, though he probably wouldn't agree.
"Luis, I didn't mean that literally. You can't go up and down the stairs and run someone a hot bath within one second."
The Norwegian offers a warm smile, as he moves over to the sofa to grab Luis. In his current state Luis doesn't return the hug, probably not even appreciate it, yet he allows John to carry him up the stairs, wrapped up in his blankets.
Though Luis weighs hardly anything, John gasps as he finally sits Luis down on the chair in the bathroom, exerted.
"I'm going to die, John!"
If he didn't say it in such a cute voice, with the perfect puppy expression on his face, John might just have slapped Luis hard across the face.
Instead he smiles again and kisses Luis' forehead softly.
"No, my love."
Quickly, he undresses the Spaniard, throwing the wet clothes into the corner of the bathroom. Luis immediately shivers and tells John that he is cold and that he fucking should hurry up.
John can't wait for the day when Luis is finally healthy again.
The Norwegian helps Luis into the bath tub before he sits down on the edge. John's hand reaches for the bath tonic. For colds, it says. It also says that it will help Luis relax and that it will lower the fever and clear the air passages.
Exactly what they need.
The heavy scents of eucalyptus, thyme, pine-needle and camomile impregnate the air. Luis lets John wash his exhausted body, there is no energy left to protest.
Of course there is, somewhere, and of course Luis is totally exaggerating, but that's just Luis. John secretly thanks God that Luis is not sick more often and that he doesn't have any habits that are worse.
After exactly 15 minutes - the time recommended on the package of the bath tonic - John heaves Luis out of the tub again. He dries the Spaniard with a huge, soft bath towel, before he enwraps him with his favourite bathrobe. Luis looks utterly tired and exhausted now and John hopes that he will finally be able to sleep.
Carefully, he carries his lover to the bedroom to lay him down on the big bed they share so often. He picks some fresh, warm clothes from the wardrobe for Luis. However, before John dresses Luis completely, his hands reach for the drawer, fetching a little jar of VapoRub.
The severe scent is rather penetrative, but Luis probably doesn't smell it. John no longer minds, he is used to it, but he knows that Luis never liked it. The Spaniard grimaces as John starts smearing some of the thick paste onto his naked chest, yet he lets it happen, probably too sleepy and exhausted from suffering from fever all day long to put up much of a fight.
Once John is done, he quickly finishes dressing his lover and covers him with several blankets. As he gets up, with the intention to fetch a glass of water for Luis, the Spaniard looks at him, pleading.
"Don't go, please. Stay with me, John."
Ok, at least he didn't repeat 'I'm dying', but yet John finds the way Luis said it highly endearing. Actually, the need in Luis' voice, the showing just how much Luis wants him to be next to him, makes up for all the times John mentally wanted to slap Luis tonight.
John comes close to the bed again, bending down to place a soft kiss on Luis' forehead.
"I'll only go down to the kitchen to get you some fresh water, I'm back soon. I won't leave you."
He smiles, and he notices how Luis tries to smile back at him.
John knows that Luis always dreams badly when he's sick and that he simply wants someone in the room who will tell him that it was only a bad dream and that everything will be ok, someone who maybe will give him a hug and a little kiss when he wakes up, just to let him know he's not alone.
Luis, it seems, regresses, somewhat, during illness.
John hurries, just to return quickly to his lover. As he enters the bed room again he finds Luis already sleeping peacefully, curling around the blankets.
John smiles as he approaches. For a brief moment, he wonders how long the peace will last.